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PACIFIC MATERIAL CULTURE
MEDEDELINGEN VAN HET RIJKSMUSEUM VOOR VOLKENKUNDE, LEIDEN
NO. 28
Essays in honour of Dr. Simon Kooijman
on the occasion of his 80th birthday
Edited by
Dirk A. M. Smidt, Pieter ter Keurs and Albert Trouwborst
Contributions by
G. D. van Wengen, Albert Trouwborst, Dirk A. M. Smidt,
Wim Rosema, Adrienne L. Kaeppler, Jehanne H. Teilhet-Fisk,
Steven Hooper, Jac. Hoogerbrugge, Pieter ter Keurs, Paul van der Grijp,
Douglas Newton, Barry Craig, Ad Boeren, Henrij. M. Claessen,
Lex van der Leeden, and G. A. Zegwaard.
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden
1995
Cover Uliistration:
Dancers from the island of Komo (west of Moce) during the mekemeke dance performance on
the viliage place (rara) of Moce, on the occasion of the sports contest between Komo and Moce,
Fiji. (Photo by Simon Kooijman, 1973)
ISBN 90-71310-59-0
© Copyright 1995 by Stichting Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde /
National Museum of F.thnology, Leiden, and the authors.
Address: Steenstraat 1, Leiden, Nederland
Postal address: Postbus 212, NL - 2300 AE Leiden
Telephone: 0031(0)71 168800
Telefax: 0031(0)71 128437
From 10 October 1995:
Telephone: 0031(0)71 5168800
Telefax: 0031(0)71 5128437
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or translated in any form, by print,
photoprint, microfiche or any other means without written permission from the publisHer.
CONTENTS
Foreword by Professor Philip J. C. Dark
Introduction
Bibliography of Dr. Simon Kooijman
9
13
SIMON KOOIJMAN AND THE RIJKSMUSEUM VOOR VOLKENKUNDE
1
Simon Kooijman as museum curator, a personal reminiscence
G. D. van Wengen
25
2
Simon Kooijman on Moce I.sland, Fiji
39
Albert Trouwborst
3
Simon Kooijman's vision of permanent displays and
temporary exhibitions
51
Dirk A. M. Smidt
4 The Kooijman collection of photographs and slides in the National
Museum of Ethnology, the Marind-anim and Moce
Wim Rosema
83
BARKCLOTH STUDIES
5
Poetics and politics of Tongan barkcloth
Adrienne L. Kaeppler
6
To beat or not to beat, that is the question, a study on acculturation and
122
change in an art-making process and its relation to gender structures
Jehanne H. Teilhet-Fisk
7
Gatu vakaviti, the great barkcloths of Southern Lau, Fiji
Steven Hooper
8
Notes on the art of barkcloth painting in the Jayapura area, Irian Jaya,
Indonesia
Jac. Hoogerbrugge
167
Barkcloth in Indonesia, Simon Kooijman's views, and additional
research on Enggano Island
Pieter ter Keurs
180
9
101
149
WOODCARVING AND OTHER ASPECTS OF MATERIAL CULTURE
10 Made in Tonga, manufacture and art objects from leaves, bark and
wood
Paul van der Grijp
200
11 Ngala art, a style and its affinities (East Sepik Province, Papua
219
New Guinea)
Douglas Newton
12 Arrow designs in Northern and Central New Guinea and the Lapita
connection
Barry Craig
237
13 A matter of principles, rules of combination and transformation in
260
Asmat ornamentation
Ad Boeren
RELIGION AND RITUAL
14 The Oro-Maro-Arioi connection
282
Henrij. M. Claessen
15 The biter bit, the Nunggubuyu myth of crow and two old women
293
Lex van der Leeden
16 The induction ritual and body decoration of recently initiated young men
in the Mimika region
G. A. Zegwaard
Short biography of Dr. Simon Kooijman
The Authors
Editors' Acknowledgements
List of Maps
Published Mededelingen
Colophon
308
324
326
332
333
334
336
FOREWORD
The collection of essays in this volume testifies to the high regard a
number of distinguished scholars have for the outstanding professional
contributions made by Dr. Simon Kooijman to museum and Pacific studies,
and, notably, in Pacific arts and material culture.
I first met Simon Kooijman very briefly in 1959- We did not meet again
until fifteen years later but that year marked the publication of his The Art
ofLake Sentani and the beginning of his important contributions to the field
of primitive art as, in the fashion of the time, it was so named. It is to be
recalled that then only relatively few scholars were engaged in exploring it.
Since, it has been variously designated according to changing sentiments,
anthropological art, ethno-aesthetics, ethnic art, and so on. But, whatever
it was called, the concerns of those earlier days were to find out about art
and material culture and in this Simon Kooijman was very much engaged.
His Sentani study was followed by 'The art areas of Western New Guinea',
which was one of several lectures given by distinguished anthropologists on
primitive art subjects in New York at the Museum of Primitive Art. This
published lecture was - as with the Sentani study - an important contribution, for, in those days, our knowledge of many peoples and cultures was
filled with lacunae and studies such as his were eagerly sought.
Subsequently, for me, certain works of Simon Kooijman's have particular
appeal. Clearly, his library study on Tapa in Polynesia (1972) is masterly in
its detail and vital for reference, so strongly in the classic tradition of the fine
series of detailed studies published in the Bishop Museum's Bulletins. Then
there is his catalogue with Jac. Hoogerbrugge on Asmat Art and the
exhibition in 1976-1977 at the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Breda,
followed by his monograph, Tapa on Moce Island (1977). The film Simon
Kooijman made on Moce (1974) bears witness to his concern for and
expertise in visual documentation. (His film was much appreciated in
classes I used to give in ethnographic film.) And, partly done in retirement,
his study of Mimika art in 1984 and, in 1988, his Polynesian Barkcloth, which
includes a delightful picture of Simon and his wife, who worked with him
on Moce Island.
Of many meetings and visits over the years with Simon, the second one
took place at McMaster University in 1974 where the First International
Symposium of the Art of the Pacific took place. Subsequent to this, I started
to eciit the Pacific Arts Newsletter'm 1975 and the Pacific Arts Association was
formed at a second symposium, which took place in Wellington in 1978.
Simon Kooijman was a founder member and, with characteristic thoroughness, gave support continuously from the beginning, in 1975, with news of
exhibitions and activities, reviews of books and exhibitions and to projected
programmes of the Pacific Arts Association. These are a matter of record but
I always found him willing to take on a review when asked or help if he
could. Of these contributions I will mention but two. The first, which he
wrote for publication in the Pacific Arts Newsletter, drew attention to the fact
that the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden, would welcome Pacific
Islanders for training. This led to a Fijian working for a year at the museum.
The second, which also shows Kooijman's concerns for Pacific Islanders,
arises from Steven Hooper's review in the Pacific Arts Newsletter in 1979 of
his monograph, Tapa on Moce Island. In it Hooper wrote 'that the Moce
people are very proud and pleased that this publication and its related film
have been produced, and that they have access to them'.
I am honoured to have been asked to write a foreword to this volume of
essays celebrating Simon's 80th birthday. It is with great pleasure that I have
penned these few words for a highly respected scholar, a warmly responsive
person and an old friend. To Simon hearty congratulations; and to Simon
and To, his wife, all best wishes for many years to come.
Philip J. C. Dark
Emeritus Professor of Anthropology
Southern Illinois University, Carbondale
9
INTRODUCTION
It is not surprising that the study of material culture is the main focus of
a book honouring Simon Kooijman. As a curator Kooijman was responsible
for the Oceanic coUection of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde (National
Museum of Ethnology) in Leiden and all his activities were centered around
this coUection. Through his research, publications, exhibitions and lectures
Kooijman adcled essential information to the objects and made the coUection
better known at a national and international level.
Kooijman did most of his research during a period when there was a clear
lack of interest in material culture in academie anthropology in the
Netherlands. Social and political issues and problems of culture in general
were considered more important. This may be one of the reasons why
references to then current theoretical views in anthropology are lacking in
Kooijman's work. Although Kooijman repeatedly paid attention to new
developments in the study of material culture his main interest lay in the
analysis of concrete empirical data. The study of material culture has
regained its importance for many anthropologists and has become respectable again as one of the main fields of interest in anthropology. Many
different kinds of theoretical approaches have been developed and many
new aspects of material culture have drawn the attention of anthropologists,
in museums and universities alike.
The present book is a token of appreciation and a tribute to the very
important work done by Kooijman. Our request to write an article for this
book on very short notice was met with prompt and positive reactions from
all over the world. This made it again clear to us that Simon Kooijman's
contributions to the study of material culture are widely appreciated.
The articles collected in this volume are partly intendeel to give an insight
in the different ways in which Kooijman conceived and executed his tasks
as a museum curator. The articles by Van Wengen, Trouwborst and Smidt
show how scrupulously and conscientiously he carried out what he
conceived to be his job: the presentation of the collections in exhibitions,
the collecting of ethnographic materials in the field and the publication of
his data in books and articles.
Kooijman's works belong to what could be called the classical tradition
of material culture studies in the Netherlands in which the Rijksmuseum
voor Volkenkunde has played a major role by the publication of works like
Von Siebold's landmark study on Japan (1832-[1852]), De Clercq en
Schmeltz's work on North New Guinea (1893), Serrurier's study of the
Javanese wayang coUection (1896), Rouffaer andjuynboll's monograph on
Indonesian batik(1900-1914), andMarquart's study on Benin (1913). Simon
Kooijman clearly followed this tradition. His work is thorough, empirical
and based on both museum work and fieldwork. His The art ofLake Sentani
(1959) and his Tapa in Polynesia (1912) are considered as Standard works.
We should add that, although working in this tradition he did not slavishly
follow all aspects of the tradition. When he started to work in the museum
the description, documentation and presentation of objects was still very
defective and it was still rather unusual for a museum curator to carry out
intensive research in the field.
10
Besides these more or less descriptive studies mentioned above, more
theoretically informed publications also appeared in Leiden, notably the
studies of W. H. Rassers. This former curator and director of the Leiden
museum wrote extensively on several aspects of Javanese material culture
such as the wayang and the keris, in a way that anticipated what later came
to be called structuralism (a collection of his essays was issued in 1959 under
the title Panji the Culture Herö). Rassers collaborated closely with Professor
J. P. B. dejosselindejong, the founder of the Leiden school of structuralism
who also had been curator at the Leiden museum, and who, at the beginning
of his academie career, was also interested in the study of material culture,
partly as an archaeologist (Effert 1992). Kooijman was well aware of the
existence of this line of thought to which he sometimes referred, for instance
in his book on Indonesian barkcloth (see Ter Keurs in this volume). Though
he did not himself systematically explore this kind of approach he certainly
was not averse to it. Kooijman's studies are mainly of a descriptive nature,
forming a solid basis for later researchers (see Hooper and Kaeppler in this
volume).
This brings us to the second aim of this volume: to show in what ways
the contributors have in different degrees continued the type of research
carried out by Kooijman and sometimes built on foundations laid by him.
Some of the articles are directly related to Kooijman's research. These
include the contributions of Hooper on barkcloths of Southern Lau (Fiji),
Hoogerbrugge on Sentani barkcloth (Northern New Guinea), Ter Keurs on
Indonesian barkcloth, Zegwaard in his article on Mimika (Southern Irian
Jaya, Indonesia), Claessen on the Tahitian god Oro, and Rosema on the
photographs and slides from the Marind-anim of Southern New Guinea and
from Moce (Fiji).
It is natural that many of the articles are dedicated to the study of
barkcloth in the Pacific, a topic in which Kooijman himself of course is the
connaisseur par excellence. Most of these articles follow new lines of
research in terms of, for example changing ethnic and gender identities,
social and cultural constructions or underlying meanings of symbols (Van
der Grijp, Van der Leeden, Kaeppler, Newton, Teilhet-Fisk), and formal
analyses of decorative designs (Boeren, Craig). We want to point out,
however, that even here some elements in these new approaches had
already been broached in the work of Kooijman, albeit in other terms than
the ones now in use. In his Moce publications for example, he describes in
detail the changes in the manufacture of barkcloth brought about by modern
developments, especially the tourist trade. He also paid attention to
questions of symbols and meaning, the evaluation of barkcloths and the
ethics of the collecting of objects.
Apart from Kooijman's scientific merits, one should realise that he was
first of all a museum curator whose first responsibility, unlike that of an
academie researcher, was towards the museum collections, their preservation, registration and documentation. This responsibility he has taken very
seriously indeed.
The Editors
INTRODUCTION
11
References cited
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13
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14
1956d Verslag studieverblijf in Engeland van 23 april tot 23 juni in
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1958d Verslag van een studiereis naar het Institut für Völkerkunde te
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15
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16
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1965
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17
1966
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1967
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1972a
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society, 97-112. London: Oxford University Press.
18
1974a TAPA, LIFE AND WORK ON A SOUTH SEA ISLAND (MOCE),
16 mm film, colour, sound, 23 minutes. Utrecht: Stichting Film
en Wetenschap.
1974b Zuidzee uit de doeken. Exhibition guide Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde, Leiden.
1975
Review of: J. Halley Cox and William H. Davenport, Hawaiian
Sculpture. Pacific Arts Newsletter 1:6.
1977a Asmat art, seventy years of Asmat woodcarving. Pacific Arts
Newsletter 4:9-11.
1977b Review of: Nelson H. H. Graburn (ed.), Ethnic and tourist arts.
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number, 5:58-60.
1977c Ruilhandel en geld-economie op een Zuidzee eiland. Verre
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1977d Tapa on Moce Island, Fiji, a traditional handicraft in a
changing society. Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde, Leiden, No. 21. Leiden: E. J. Brill.
1977e Zeilen op de Zuidzee. Intermediair 13 (12-25 March):51-591978a Review of: Wolf Bleek, Achter de coulissen, anthropologisch
veldwerk in Ghana. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en
1978b Continuity and change in houses and house construction, the
case of the Lau Islands, Fiji. Baessler-Archiv 26:299-332.
1978c Materiële aspecten van de cultuur. In: H. J. M. Claessen,
A. Jonker, A. Klomp, S. Kooijman, B. J. Rouwenhorst en
G. D. van Wengen, Inleiding tot de culturele antropologie.
's-Hertogenbosch: Malmberg. Pp. 21-41.
1978d Micronesia in the Netherlands. Exhibition review. Pacific Arts
Newsletter 6:9.
1978e Georg Forster. Exhibition review. Pacific Arts Newsletter 6:10.
1978f
A new ethnographic museum in the Netherlands. Pacific Arts
Newsletter 8:10-12.
1978g Versierde boombaststof uit de Zuidzee. Bijvoorbeeld, tijdschrift
voor kreatief handwerk 10 (August):10-15.
19
1978h Verslag van museale en ethnografische activiteiten tijdens de
Zuidzee-reis van 18 januari tot 5 maart 1978, met rapport
betreffende 2nd International Symposium on the Art of Oceania
in Wellington, N.Z. van 1-8 februari. Unpublished report.
1979a Review of: Adrienne L. Kaeppler, Artificial Curiosities. Pacific
Arts Newsletter 8:17-19.
1979b Traditional handicraft in a changing society, manufacture and
function of stenciled tapa on Moce Island. In: Sidney M. Mead
(ed.), Exploring the visual art of Oceania. Honolulu: University
Press of Hawaii. Pp. 363-377.
1980a Introduction. In: W. R. van Gulik, H. S. van der Straaten, and
G. D. van Wengen (eds.), From field-case to show-case,
research, acquisition andpresentation in the Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde (National Museum of Ethnology), Leiden.
Uithoorn: Gieben. P. 7.
1980a A South Sea island in Leiden. In: W. R. van Gulik, H. S. van der
Straaten, and G. D. van Wengen (eds.), From field-case to showcase, research, acquisition and presentation in the Rijksmuseum
voor Volkenkunde (National Museum of Ethnology), Leiden.
Uithoorn: Gieben. Pp. 51-69.
1980b Ceremonial exchange and art on Moce Island (Fiji), functional
interpretation of a tapa design. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en
1980c Review of: Peter Gathercole, Adrienne L. Kaeppler, and Douglas Newton, The Art of the Pacific Islands. National Gallery of
Art. Washington 1979- Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en
Volkenkunde 137:178-182. Also in Pacific Arts Newsletter
10:13-16.
1980d Traditional Oceanic cultures in a third-world museum. Review
of an exhibition in the Uebersee Museum in Bremen. Pacific
A rts Newsletter 10:10-11.
1981a Review of: Brian Brake, James McNeish and David Summons,
Art of the Pacific. New York 1980. Pacific Arts Newsletter
12:13-15.
1981b Review of: Anne Leonard and John Terrell, Patterns of paradise,
the styles and significance of bark cloth around the world.
Chicago 1980. Journal of the Polynesian Society 90:126-129.
1981c Mimika art, a visual presentation. Pacific Arts Newsletter
12:18-21.
20
1981d Traditional exchange and western products in the Lau Islands,
Fiji. In: Roland W. Force and Brenda Bishop (eds.), Persistence
and exchange, papers from a symposium on ecologicalproblems
of the traditional societies of the Pacific Kegion, 101-108.
Honolulu: Pacific Science Association.
1982a Review of: Gunter Konrad, Ursula Konrad and Tobias Schneebaum, Asmat, leben mit den Ahnen, steinzeitliche Holzschnitzer
unserer Zeit / Asmat, life with the ancestors. Published by
Brückner, Glashütten/Taunus, 1981. Pacific Arts Newsletter
14:17-18.
1982b The Pacific-art collection of the Ethnographic Museum 'Justinus
van Nassau' in Breda, The Netherlands. Pacific Arts Newsletter
14:10-15.
1982c Review of: Herbert Tischner, Dokumente verschollener SüdseeKulturen. Abhandlungen der naturhistorischen Gesellschaft
Nürnberg 38, 1981. Pacific Arts Newsletter 15:18.
1983a Zoals de ouden zongen ... Kinderleven en kinderspel op een
Zuidzee eiland. Verre Naasten Naderbij 17:86-98.
1983b The Netherlands and Oceania, a summary of research. Contributions of the anthropology, linguistics and demography of
Oceania by Dutch social scientists after the second world war.
1984a Art, art objects and ritual in the Mimika culture. Mededelingen
van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden, No. 24.
Leiden: E. J. Brill.
[1984]b Nieuw Guinea, kunst, kunstvormen en stijlgebieden. Leiden:
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde.
1984c Review of: Tibor Bodrogi (ed.), Stammeskunst, Erster Band,
Australien, Ozeanien, Afrika. And Tibor Bodrogi and Lajos
Boglar (eds.) Stammeskunst, Zweiter Band, Amerika, Asien.
Corvina Kiadó, Budapest 1981. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en
Volkenkunde 140:353-355. Also in Pacific Arts Newslelter
17:29-31.
1984d Review of: Jerry Leach and Edmund Leach (eds.), The Kula,
new perspectives on Massim exchange. Cambridge University
Press 1983. And Martha Macintyre, The Kula, a bibliography.
Cambridge University Press 1983- Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Landen Volkenkunde 140:180-184.
21
1985a Le Tapa a Hawai. In: Approche du tapa Océanien.
Aix-en-Provence: Musée des Tapisseries.
1985b Review of: J. van Baal, K. W. Galis and R. M. Koentjaraningrat,
West Irian, a bibliography. Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-,
Land- en Volkenkunde. Bibliographical Series 15. Dordrecht:
Foris Publications. 1984. Pacific Arts Newsletter 21:21-22.
1985c Review of: An Asmat sketch book no. 8 (1981). A series on the
Asmat people. A publication of the Asmat Museum of Culture
and Progress. Pacific Arts Newsletter 21:22-24.
1986a Reflecties op, en balans van de publicaties door Nederlandse
anthropologen met betrekking tot Oceanië sinds 1970. In:
M. A. van Bakel, A. P. Borsboom and H. Dagmar (eds.), Traditie in verandering, Nederlandse bijdragen aan antropologisch
onderzoek in Oceanië. Leiden: DSWO Press.
1986b The Kilenge of Papua New Guinea. Exhibition held in the
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde (National Museum of Ethnology) in Leiden from October 16, 1985 to January 2, 1986. Pacific
Arts Newsletter 23:22-24.
1987
Jan Pouwer en de 'Leidse' Mimika collectie. In: P. van der Grijp,
T. Lemaire, A. Trouwborst (eds.), Sporen in de antropologie,
Liber Amicorum Jan Pouwer. Nijmegen: Instituut voor Culturele
en Sociale Antropologie.
1988a Polynesian barkcloth. Shire Ethnography. Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire: Shire Publications.
1988b Review of: Adrian Horridge, Outrigger canoes of Bali and
Madura, Indonesia. Bishop Museum Bulletin 77. Honolulu:
Bishop Museum Press. 1987. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land-en
1990
From tree to festive cloth, decorated tree bark material in Fiji.
A world of textiles 3:7-15, 4:45-52. Also published in Dutch:
Van boom tot feestkleed, versierde boombaststof in Fiji.
Handwerken zonder grenzen 3:7-15, 4:45-52.
1991
Review of: Toos van Kooten and Gerard van den Heuvel (eds.),
Sculptuur uit Afrika en Oceanië, een keuze uit de collecties van
leden van de Vereniging van Ethnografica / Sculpture from
Africa and Oceania, a selection from the Association of Friends
of Ethnographica. Otterlo 1990. Pacific Arts 4:39-42.
22
1992
Introduction In: S. Greub (ed.), Art of Northwest New Guinea,
from Geelvink Bay, Humboldt Bay, and Lake Sentani, 11-16.
New York: Rizzoli.
Kooijman, Simon, and H. H. Frese
1958 Nederlands-Nieuw-Guinea in Leiden, de representatie van de
culturen van Westelijk Nieuw-Guinea in het Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde. Nieuw-Guinea Studiën 2:94-108.
Kooijman, Simon, J. Verschueren m.s.c, M. Dorren and L. Veeger
1958 Rapport van het bevolkingsonderzoek onder de Marind-anim van
Nederlands Zuid Nieuw Guinea, South Pacific Commission,
Population Studies-S18 Project.
Kamma, Freerk C, and Simon Kooijman
1973 Romawa forja, child of the fire, iron working and the role of iron
in West New Guinea (West Irian). Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden, No. 18. Leiden: E. J. Brill.
Hoogerbrugge, Jac, and Simon Kooijman
1976 70 jaar Asmat houtsnijkunst / 70 tahun seni pahat Asmat /
70years of'Asmat woodcarving, Breda: Volkenkundig Museum
'Justinus van Nassau (Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, afdeling
Breda).
Hermans, Peter, and Simon Kooijman
1987 The Netherlands and Oceania, a supplementary bibliography,
contributions by Dutch scientists to the anthropology, geography,
demography and linguistics of'Oceania. Nijmegen: Centre for
Australian and Oceanic studies.
Kooijman, Simon, and Jac. Hoogerbrugge
1992 Art of Wakde-Yamna Area, Humboldt Bay, and Lake Sentani. In:
S. Greub (ed.), Art of Northwest New Guinea, from Geelvink Bay,
Humboldt Bay, and Lake Sentani, 57-125. New York: Rizzoli.
(In several publications Kooijman is spelled Kooyman)
SIMON KOOIJMAN
AND THE
RIJKSMUSEUM VOOR VOLKENKUNDE
25
1
SIMON KOOIJMAN AS MUSEUM CURATOR
A PERSONAL REMINISCENCE
G. D. van Wengen
Early years as a curator
In the autumn of 1955 I joined the staff of the National Museum of
Ethnology in Leiden. I was given a post - together with Herman Frese - in
the recently instituted museum educational section. At that time Simon
Kooijman had already been curator of the Oceania section for many years,
and thus had not only served the museum for a longer period, gaining
considerable experience; he was also older than we were. It was immediately clear that, as a colleague, he was both able and willing to give us a great
deal of help, particularly in launching the museum's educational work.
Entering the Leiden museum service at the end of the Second World War,
Simon already had a somewhat disjointed career behind him, frequently
interrupted by compulsory military service in Indonesia in the period 19451950. In the army, he was a reserve officer attached to the Netherlands
Forces Intelligence Service (later called the Central Military Intelligence
Service). At one time this gave him the opportunity to fly in a Catalina
amphibious plane belonging to the Naval Aviation, making brief visits to
various parts of New Guinea, the region which was to occupy much of his
attention later on when he was curator in the Leiden museum.
In 1950 Simon was back in Leiden and could now begin to devote time
to his work as curator of the Oceania section. With all the thoroughness that
characterized him throughout his time in the museum service, he started
with the first task expected of a curator: the careful management and
documenting of the collections in his section. He also attached great
importance to the study of the literature in his own field, to supplement the
knowledge he already had about the collections in his care.
After these considerations it is important for every curator to gain direct,
personal contact with the non-European cultures of the area covered by his
museum section. Simon therefore welcomed the challenge when he was
asked to lead a research project on population among the Marind-anim of
26
Figure 1. Simon Kooijman with his luggage waiting for the canoe to arrive with the high
tide, Kumbe, Marind-anim area, southern New Guinea, 13 May 1953- (Photoprobably byj.
Verschueren, M.S.C.)
South New Guinea. He would gain a great deal of experience in the field,
and would be able to establish contacts with the Papuans who (up to that
point) he knew mainly from the literature and museum collections alone.
Simon left for New Guinea at the end of December 1952. In the south of
what was then the Dutch part of the island, using its capital Merauke as his
base, he made trips to Marind villages over a wide area in order to coüect
data for his research. The journeys were often difficult, with Papuan bearers
for his luggage (fig. 1). Simon made use of his time in the Marind region to
collect ethnographic matenal for the Leiden museum (see Dirk Smidt's
chapter).
In the spring of 1954 he was back in Leiden. His contacts with the
inhabitants of his study region had left him more highly motivated than ever
for dealing with the collections in his care, and their associated literature.
In the eyes of us 'youngsters' of the educational service, he was thus already
an experienced museum man, and we were happy to listen to his ideas.
The curator as pedagogue
A factor ïncreasing the attraction of the contact with Simon was that, as
a social geographer with a degree from Utrecht University, he had also
gained the necessary teaching experience. Thus for a year he had taught
27
geography and history at the Gymnasium in the Hague, followed by a couple
of years as teacher in the Christian Lyceum in Zeist.
Later on, in his museum period, he did not completely renounce his
teaching: from 1960 on, he regularly gave lessons to students of the Christian
Teacher Training College in Leiden. He carried out this didactic function
early in the morning, in order not to lose time at the museum. He frequently
took his students to the museum, allowing them to experience the riches of
the collections there.
His two colleagues in the education section, enthusiastic yet still
inexperienced in teaching, profited greatly from Simon Kooijman's background in schools and colleges. To give one concrete example: in the latter
half of the 1950s and the beginning of the 1960s (until West New Guinea was
transferred to Indonesia) the New Guinea section was a favourite topic for
a museum visit, and youth associations as well as lower- and middle schools
often requested tours of this department. The New Guinea department had
originally been arranged geographically, with presentations concerning the
inhabitants of both north and south coasts of the western part of the island
and the interior.
The guided tours showed that it was hard to weave a theme into the tour
commentaries because of the immense quantity of material on show, and
even more because of the differences (for example between the north and
south coasts) which were not obvious to the lay public. Needless to say it
was even more difficult for the individual visitor to acquire a grasp of the
presentation.
Since Simon, as a teacher, was accustomed to 'getting over' knowledge,
he was fully prepared to consider the best kind of commentary to give the
public on the displays in the New Guinea room. Although he realised that
the original geographical arrangement of the presentation was an academically sound one, offering a great number of interesting points of contact for
the expert insider, for him the approach for the general public was still
decisive. In terms of present-day museum philosophy he was streets ahead
of many of his fellow curators in both ethnological and other kinds of
museums. They often tended to shut themselves into scholarly ivory towers
and, in presenting 'their' displays, to show special concern with what their
professional colleagues would say about 'their' work.
The geographical division was no longer used in the new arrangement
of Leiden's New Guinea collection. Seven themes were presented: (1)
cultivation of sago, and horticulture; (2) hunting and fishing; (3) raw
materials and techniques;(4) objects intended for daily use; (5) the feast of
masks; (6) religion; (7) warfare, trade and headhunting. It was clear that this
display gave visitors to the section a much better chance of gaining an
insight into the way of life in Papuan societies, and the way in which their
members functioned within them. We were able to provide group tours with
a half-hour introductory talk (illustrated with slides) on the geographical
regions. An attempt was also made in the new presentation to make it clear,
by means of photographs, that all kinds of western influences had also
penetrated New Guinea, for example in the form of churches and schools.
Simon Kooijman, together with Herman Frese, wrote about this process
of changing presentation (Frese and Kooijman 1958). He had no hesitation
28
in stating that the new basis for presentation could be criticised. The fact that
such a presentation had nevertheless been chosen could be regarded as a
helping hand extended to the public. This public had now been offered a
better insight into the various aspects of Papuan culture. It goes without
saying that this development was highly valued by those working in the
educational service of the museum.
The curator as exhibition creator
In the course of every curator's museum career, he/she is expected to
create exhibitions, and Simon Kooijman held to this tradition. Undoubtedly
his major exhibition was the one created in 1974, a year after he and his wife
To had returned from eight months of fieldwork on the little island of Moce,
one of the Fiji Islands in the South Seas region. Later in this contribution we
shall examine this stay on Moce in greater detail, under the heading 'the
curator as fieldworker'. Here, we shall only mention that Simon and To
returned with a wealth of material. This provided an extremely attractive
exhibition, introduced by a series of colour slides, and ending with a 16 mm.
sound film.
When one entered the exhibition 'The South Seas Unveiled', one had the
impression of being in the middle of a village on Moce. There was a grassy
field with a drying rack on which pieces of coconut had been hung to dry.
(With the midsummer heat in the exhibition space the coconut began to give
off a somewhat pervasive smell). The centrepiece of the exhibition space
was a complete Moce house, which the museum technicians had constructed from information based on photographs and sketches made on the
island. The house was fully furnished with tables, chairs, beds and other
household goods (fig. 2). One wall was covered with a very large barkcloth
which provided the decor for a Moce bridal couple (represented by
dummies) dressed in festive clothing also made from barkcloth.
There is no need to state that the workers in the educational section
derived great pleasure from showing groups of visitors around this exhibition. In the fullest sense of the word, this was an 'evocative' exhibition, in
accordance with a concept introduced by the director of that time, Dr. P. H.
Pott. The exhibition also opened up other possibilities for the educational
service. The educational department had already introduced a wide range
of non-western creative techniques which, under the guidance of the
department's workers, could be put into practice by museum visitors, young
or old. After consultation with Simon, the decorating of barkcloth was added
to the range of 'do-it-yourself' techniques. The sole difference was that,
since our supply of barkcloth was too small, the Moce decorative motifs
were applied to thick paper (using the rubbing-through or stencil method)
rather than to the traditional barkcloth. The effect was almost the same.
Visitors to the exhibition could thus experience for themselves how people
of the South Seas applied this decoration. A separate space in the exhibition
always had visitors working away with stencils they had designed themselves or copied from the cloths on show, then cut out and used for
decorating the paper.
SIMON KOQIJMAN AS MUSEUM CURATOR
29
Figure 2. Interior of a house in the exhibition 'The South Seas Unveüed'. (Photo by Isaac C.
Brussèe)
Two years before the exhibition 'The South Seas Unveüed', Simon had
created another exhibition entitled 'Fat-lal Sailing in the South Seas'. The
exhibition concerned sailing ships and the way in which South Seas people
sailed them. The museum possessed a great number of model ships from the
South Seas. and these were displayed very attractiveiy, together with a fullsized outrigger boat. Thi.s, with its rigging as complete as possible, was a
great crowd-puller at the exhibition. The boat must have made Simon very
nostalgie. The year before this, he had made a trip through the South Seas
in just such a boat, in order to decide on the place for his extended
investigation of tapa in 1973It was to be expected that this exhibition, in which a series of slides and
a very instructive film about sailing in the South Seas were shown, would
catch the interest of water-sport enthusiasts especially, and such was indeed
the case. Members of sailing and catamaran clubs came to the museum to
look at the boats and the film. A good many technical schools sent along
their stuclents. Some of these technical schools first made a visit to the
exhibition, and then the teachers set the pupils and' stuclents to work on
making their own models of outrigger boats of all kinds. Later, they returned
to the museum in order to check their own work against the model ships in
the exhibition.
As we have already seen, Simon was always intere.sted in ways of
presenting the museum collections to the public. This concern was expressed not only in the femporary exhibïtions already mentioned, but also
in the care he gave to what museum circles call the 'permanent display' -
30
in this case, New Guinea and the South Seas region (see Smidt's chapter).
After the New Guinea presentation had (as we have already seen)
undergone a considerable transformation in the latter half of the 1950s,
Simon took the presentation of the South Seas section in hand, firstly by
using a temporary exhibition for trying out a potential new permanent
arrangement for the section. Visitors' reactions showed which displays still
needed adjustments before being given a place in the more permanent
presentation. This working method was later taken up by other curators.
The curator as scholarly researcher
Most post-war curators gave special attention to one or more subjects, in
addition to their general tasks and to the geographical section entrusted to
them. Thus Gerbrands had a special affinity with the woodcarving of the
Asmat region of New Guinea; Leyenaar was an expert on the Mexican
ballgame; Verwey was steeped in Tibetan Buddhism; Nooter maintained
special links with the Greenland village of Tiderida, and Munneke with the
market towns of Afghanistan.
Simon Kooijman's very special interest lay with the creation and use of
barkcloth. He began studying these around 1955, and by the time he took
his leave of the museum in 1980, he had become a recognised world
authority on this subject. As he became increasingly intrigued in the
barkcloth, he began to ferret out the existing literature on the subject. His
conclusion was that the various questions he had himself posed on the topic
had as yet barely found any answer. The only solution for finding the
answers to these questions was to carry out his own investigation, preferably
in the form of fieldwork.
In preparation for this fieldwork it struck Simon as being desirable to
look, first of all, at the barkcloth held in the depositories of the various
museums, often in other countries. Thus in 1956 he went to Britain, with a
grant from the Dutch Organization for Scientific Research (Nederlandse
Organisatie voor Zuiver Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek, otherwise known as
Z.W.O.). In England, he worked in the depository of the British Museum,
afterwards moving on to the University Museum of Archeology in Cambridge, and the famous Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford.
After Simon had studied and photographed the barkcloth collection at
Göttingen in 1958 (once again, with the financial support of Z.W.O.), he
visited the U.S.A. for the first time in 1959- He had written the catalogue
(Kooijman 1959) for an exhibition on Papuan art from the Sentani Lake area,
held in the Museum of Primitive Art in New York. The invitation to the
opening of the exhibition was a 'thank-you' for his contribution. After this
he made a round tour of the north-eastern United States, visiting the Field
Museum in Chicago for instance, which has an interesting South Seas
collection. During his trips abroacl, Kooijman met many colleagues who
shared his interest in barkcloth products. Back in the Leiden museum, he
frequently received return visits from these and other colleagues. This
exchange of data increased the knowledge of, and interest in, his favourite
subject.
31
At the end of the 1950s Simon made a temporary but successful side-track
into Indonesian barkcloth studies. The museum in Leiden holds a valuable
collection of barkcloth from Indonesia, at that time under the management
of Simon's colleague Jan Keuning, and later of Lex van der Leeden. In view
of the cultural relations which had always existed (stretching far back into
the past) between Indonesia and the South Seas region, an inter-cultural
comparison between the barkcloth products of both areas seemed to
promise interesting results. While the study of the South Seas cloths were
put on a back-burner for the time being, Simon concentrated all his attention
on the barkcloth material from Indonesia. No long journeys were needed for
this; the National Museum of Ethnology itself possessed an extensive
collection of such materials, principally from Borneo and East Indonesia
(Sulawesi, Seram and Halmahera). Yet use could also be made of similar
material from the Tropenmuseum (Museum of the Tropics), in Amsterdam,
and the Museum voor Land- en Volkenkunde (now: Museum voor Volkenkunde / Museum of Ethnology) in Rotterdam. Since the wearing of barkcloth
clothing had begun to disappear at the beginning of the twentieth century
in the regions of Indonesia mentioned above, we are talking here of
relatively old collections. Similarly the descriptions by people who had been
eye-witnesses to the making and wearing of barkcloth clothing are early.
Simon therefore had to do the best he could with studying these descriptions
and a number of more recent publications concerning the cultural background of the Indonesian regions being dealt with, in addition to the
Indonesian barkcloth material.
In 1963 he published 'Ornamented barkcloth in Indonesia', as part of the
series Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden. Despite the restrictive conditions governing the research, this publication
provided a welcome supplement to the documentation (sparse up to that
point) of the Leiden, Amsterdam, and Rotterdam collections of Indonesian
barkcloth.
The first chapter of the book, an extensive one which stimulated a good
deal of interest, provided the socio-religious background to the barkcloth
clothing of Borneo (Kenyah), Sulawesi (Toraja), West Seram and Halmahera. (The second and third chapters dealt with techniques of manufacture
and decorative motifs). In all these areas, the motifs on the barkcloth
clothing clearly bear a relationship to the society's cosmology, and also with
head-hunting, which was still being practiced at that time. Simon's book
gave a number of remarkable and intriguing examples of this.
After this important Indonesian intermezzo came the shift back to the
barkcloth material from the Oceania region, known there as tapa. From then
on, Simon concentrated on techniques of manufacture and decoration, the
significance of the decorative motifs, and the function of tapa in the society.
With the aim of filling out the extensive documentation already obtained
through visits to the major European museums with tapa collections, it was
now necessary to visit similar institutions in the Pacific region, where the
tapa had originated.
Once again, Z.W.O. gave its financial support. Simon set out in September 1963 for a three-months trip which took him first of all to the all-
32
important Bernice P. Bishop Museum in Hawaii. Next he visited the
museums in Suva and Noumea, the capitals of the Fiji Islands and New
Caledonia respectively, without finding much of importance there. After this
he visited three museums in New Zealand, where one could see a great deal
of the Maori culture. Finally, Simon set out for Australia, where both the
National Museum of Victoria at Melbourne and the Austrahan Museum in
Sydney held very large collections of tapa.
In the meantime Simon had Iearned that there were major nineteenthcentury collections of tapa in the Peabody Museums at Salem and Cambridge, in Massachusetts. A subsidy from the American Wenner-Gren
Foundation for Anthropological Research enabled him to undertake a
month-long research project in these two institutions, in the summer of
1964. These old collections had been taken from the South Seas region,
especially from Hawaii and Tahiti, by the captains of American whaling
ships, who had sometimes also made copious notes on the provenance of
the pieces. Ultimately, when years of study and numerous trips had resulted
in a vast collection of material illustrated by a considerable number of
photographs, this was published in Tapa in Polynesia. Because facilities
were at that time lacking in Leiden, the work was published in 1972 as a
Bulletin of the Bishop Museum in Hawaii.
Clearly, after this comprehensive archival research in many parts of the
world, Simon was left with an overriding wish to undertake field research
into the creation and functions of tapa in a South Seas society. In 1971 a grant
from the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research made it
possible for him to carry out a trial investigation in West Polynesia and in
the Fiji Islands. This resulted in the selection of the small island of Moce in
the Fiji ArchipeJago as the place for the fieldwork.
In addition to the extended study of tapa material, Simon was also
anxious to investigate another subject: the art of the Mimika, which is well
represented in the Leiden museum collection. In the 1960s both the
international world of ethnological museums and private collectors were
very interested in the art of the Asmat Papuans, who were neighbours of the
Mimika region's inhabitants. Simon believed that the art of the latter region
was in no way inferior to Asmat art, and hoped to demonstrate this by
thoroughly studying the subject resulting in a publication. In 1969 a grant
from Z.W.O. made it possible for him to compare the Mimika items in the
Leiden collection with those in the University Museum of Archeology and
Anthropology in Cambridge, England, and the British Museum in London.
The pressure of work connected with the tapa research in the 1970s made
it necessary to leave aside the documented and photographed Mimika
materials until they could be taken up again at the end of the decade.
By then the end of Simon's active career was approaching: 1 March 1980
was the date he reached pensionable age, and there were a number of tasks
to finish off first. Only after this could he attend to the Mimika material.In
1984 the publication Art, art objects and ritual in the Mimika culture
appeared as a volume in the series Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde, Leiden.
33
The curator as fieldworker
When one has been preoccupied for many years with a special topic in this case the tapa culture of Oceania - and has had to rely all that time
on existing literature or museum depositories, then increasingly one looks
forward to being able to carry out fieldwork of one's own. As we have
already seen, Simon made an exploratory trip in 1971, to decide on the place
for his field research, and then matters rested until 1973- In that year Simon
and his wife To were able to live for eight months on the little island of Moce,
in the eastern part of the Fiji Archipelago (fig. 3). Apart from providing each
other with familïar company, a married couple undertaking research
together are in a better position from a research-technical point of view, as
well. Women play an important part in the making of tapa, but moreover.
severa! ritual usages in which tapa fulfills a definite role are also first and
foremost women's activities. It gocs without saying that To's presence
among the women in this kind of situation struck the right note. It is worth
mentioning here that Simon's colleagues of that time, for instance Teel
Leyenaar, Gerti Nooter and Roelof Munneke were accompanied by their
wives for similar reasons.
During those eight months on Moce Island the Kooijmans did a great deal
of work, and this did not always go without a hitch. Apart from Nature's little
games - they were nearly blown, along with their tent, into the sea during
a typhoon - the relationship with the island people was not always an easy
one. Simon andTo made many good friends there, as Simon was to say later,
but there were also people who envied what seemed to them to be
undreamed-of wealth, or who were afraid that the Kooijmans had come to
'steal' their tapa motifs and patterns, which were so vital for participation
in the tourist industry. Nevertheless, after the eight months stay, it was clear
that positive attitudes were uppe-rmost.
At all events the Kooijmans were able to follow the whole process of the
preparationanduse of tapa. Thisbegan with cutting the paper mulberry tree
Figurc 3. 'Katarina' and 'Simeone'
(as To and Simon
Kooijman were
called by the
people of' Moce
Lsland) during
their farewell
party, 9 August
1973. (Photo by
Steven Symonds)
34
and stripping its bark, and ended with the ceremonial use of tapa in, for
example, the vakataraisulu ritual performed a hundred clays after the death
of an important headman. In his book Tapa onMoceIsland, Fiji, Simon gives
us a wide-ranging view of the production of barkcloth textiles, and of
developments in the use of tapa, including the most recent. He also provides
a detailed description of the vakataraisulu ritual, which also appears in the
film we shall mention presently. The ritual ends with the presentation of
barkcloth made by a large number of women, and the sharing of a meal
prepared in the communal oven. The piece of barkcloth, some 25 meters
long, is subsequently cut into smaller pieces to be given to a number of
official guests. The quantity of cloth each guest may receive indicates his or
her status in the community.
In addition to Simon's careful observation of, and notes on everything
that happened in connection with the tapa complex in Moce, he also gave
a good deal of attention to ways of confirming the data he had collected.
With this in mind, he shot rollsful of black-and-white photographs, colour
slides, and (last but not least) he shot the l6mm sound-and-colour film
which, edited, would later become Tapa, Life and Work on a South Sea
Island (Moce). This film was shown many times, both in the Leiden museum
and at foreign conferences. The documentary film, lasting 23 minutes,
derived much of its charm from the way in which a married couple from
Moce - Vosa and her husband Ropate - played a central role right through
the film. This helped to create a sense of identification among the viewers.
Apart from the audio-visual material gathered on Moce, Simon also
acquired vital objects from the island's material culture, for the Leiden
museum. Here the accent lay mainly on the link between production and use
of tapa. Later on these objects played a major role in the display of the
exhibition 'The South Seas Unveiled', mentioned above. The exhibition also
made good use of'the wealth of audio-visual material in the form of blackand-white photographs, colour slides, and the colour/sound film.
The Moce research was not only important from an academie viewpoint.
It also helped to make an almost ideal use of the objects collected on Moce
for creating a multi-media presentation, in the Leiden museum, about this
little South Sea Island.
The curator as ambassador for the museum
We have already seen how Simon visited tapa collections in museum
depositories in various parts of the world, before his research trip to Moce.
He had thus already discovered a large circle of colleagues involved in South
Seas research, with whom he maintained good professional (and often also
personal) contacts.
After the research on Moce and publication of its results, Simon Kooijman
was definitely established as an internationally recognised expert on tapa.
After this he received many invitations to speak at conferences, and the film
made on Moce was always appreciated on these occasions. For example,
Simon visited Ontario, Canada, in the second half of 1974, to participate in
a symposium on 'The Art of Oceania'. He subsequently travelled through the
35
U.S.A., visiting various museums where, in a number of cases, he was invited
to give a talk on his fieldwork and to show the film.
In 1975 he was one of the two official Dutch delegates to the thirteenth
Pacific Science Congress in Vancouver, in which some nine hundred people
took part. There, he gave a lecture on 'Training and Organization of
Scientific Manpower, the Case of Museums'. In this he drew attention to the
fact that, if the museums in the Pacific region wanted to concentrate on their
role as guardians of the national heritage, but alsb wanted to function as
cultural centres searching for a new identity in a changing world, they would
need to devote a great deal of thought to the training of museological
specialists. As yet, this training could be found only in western museums.
A second lecture given during the same conference concerned the fieldwork
on Moce, the film once more being shown.
In 1978 Simon was invited to take part in the 'Second International
Symposium on the Art of Oceania' held in Wellington, New Zealand. The
Kooijmans fitted a round-the-world trip into this journey. They began their
trip in Hong Kong, then travelled to Port Moresby in Papua New Guinea.
Then followed a short interval in Brisbane, Australia, before they headed for
their main destination, Wellington. In all these places Simon and To looked
up colleagues, and renewed old contacts.
At the Wellington conference, where he participated as an official Dutch
delegate, Simon gave a paper entitled 'Tapa and tapa workers on Moce
Island, Fiji, the masterpieces and their makers'. Here, too, the film of Moce
was shown; there was no better or more convincing way of supporting the
spoken with the visual.
After the conference the Kooijmans visited other parts of New Zealand,
before crossing over to Suva, capital of their familiar Fiji Islands. For several
days they were able to watch the traditional handicraft of a women potter
and some woodcarvers. Unhappily, bad weather conditions prevented the
visit (which Simon and To had anticipated with so much pleasure) to their
beloved Moce. They visited Hawaii before setting out on their journey back
to the Netherlands. As we have seen, Simon (accompanied at times by To)
made frequent visits to different parts of the world, especially the countries
of Europe, the Pacific region, and North America. There, he visited a great
many museums in which he made very good contacts. Such contacts were
important not only for Simon himself, but also for the Leiden museum (as
they still are). By his knowledge of his own field and special subjects, and
also by his personality - 'in every inch a gentleman' - Simon has been an
outstanding 'ambassador' for Leiden.
The curator as administrator of the museum collection
Before all else, Simon Kooijman was a real museum man. The valuable
Oceania collection confided to his care meant a great deal to him. It is a
generally recognized phenomenon (one to which Director Pott of that time,
under whom Simon worked, made repeated references in his annual
reports) that in the post-war period the work-load greatly increased for both
the Director and academie staff of the museum. The work aimed at the public
36
also claimed additional attention from the curators, even if only in the
creation of temporary exhibitions. The written press, but also radio and
television, increasingly asked for information, or for cooperation in programmes. Furthermore, a continually increasing number of people knew
where to go for information on ethnographica in their possession. Finally,
there was also continually more inter-museum consultation via the Dutch
Museum Association (Nederlandse Museum Vereniging) or from the ethnological museums themselves.
The new pressure of work (and consequent pressure on time) meant that
the registration, documentation and care of collections began to fall into
arrears, not only in Leiden but also in several other museums. This was not
the case, however, with Kooijman's section. In the same way (fortunately for
the museum) as a few of his other Leiden colleagues, Simon ensured that
every new object entering his department was given its place and was
registered and described as fully as possible.
Nevertheless, the overall situation in the depository of the Leiden
museum was, in Simon's active period, far from satisfactory. The storerooms were overcrowded with objects, the store-cases old-fashioned and
there was no possibility for climate control.
In my own active period, in which I frequently took groups round the
museum, I was often asked if it were possible to have a peek at the
depository. For many visitors this appeared to be the high spot of a museum
visit: to be able to look around a place from which the average visitor was
excluded, or behind the door with the notice 'entry prohibited'. When this
fitted in with the programme, I enjoyed this kind of visit, as well. In the
depository good stories could be told around the objects, which brought
maximum attention from the listeners. The place where I went with a group
was more or less always the same: the depository of the Oceania department. Fortunately, Simon had an assistant, Cor Zwanenburg, who was a
passionate philatelist, and very conscientious. This meant that he and Simon
Kooijman, his boss, were well suited since Simon was just as precise in
everything. So the Oceanic depository was one of the places in which
everything was in good order, and every object could be found immediately
(fig. 4).
With regard to the depository situation in the Leiden museum a great deal
changed for the better after the 1988 report of the General Audits Office
(Algemene Rekenkamer), which had sounded the alarm bells about the
general conditions obtaining in Dutch museum depositories. Owing to the
so-called Deltaplan for the Preservation of the Netherlands' Cultural Heritage considerable funds were allotted to the Leiden Museum which enabled
the present staff to greatly improve the depository situation.
There were also disadvantages, as curator Dirk Smidt (Simon Kooijman's
successor) discovered on seeing his Oceania collections taken to the new
museum depository at 's-Gravenzande, some 30 km from Leiden, even
though they were well cared for there. Nonetheless, in Simon's active
museum period the situation in the Oceania department was the best
possible under the primitive conditions of the time, thanks to the combination of Simon Kooijman and Cor Zwanenburg.
37
Figure 4. Cor Zwanenburg in the
storerooms of the Oceania
department. (Pboto by Isadc C.
Brussee)
The curator after his retirement
In 1980 ie was with great sadness that Simon Kooijman took his official
leave of the museum, on reaching pensionable age. Happily, this did not
mean thac all his links with the museum were broken. Without getting under
his successor's feet (i.c. Dirk Smidt's) he maintained a great involvement
with the museum, and was always ready to give advice when this was asked.
He also made sure that the documentation of the photographs and slides,
made on Moce and in many museum depositories. was completed down to
the last detail. He was able to prolong his involvement with his study region
of Oceania as the secretary for the 'Dutch Society for Oceanic Studies'
(Werkgemeenschap Oceaniè') set up in 1979, a position he was to occupy in
a very activc and stimulating way for the first ten years of the associations
existence.
Above all. however, after retirement he maintained notably warm and
friendly links with his ex-colleagues in the Leiden museum and elsewhere.
For the younger curators of today in Leiden, his knowledge and experience
provide a great stimulus. It was thus an excellent idea to publish this book
as a token of esteem for one of the best post-war curators in the National
Museum of Ethnology in Leiden.
38
References cited
Kooijman, Simon
The art of Lake Sentani. New York-. The Museum of Primitive Art.
1959
Ornamented bark-cloth inlndonesia. Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum
1963
voor Volkenkunde 16. Leiden: Brul.
1972
Tapa in Polynesia. B. P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 234. Honolulu: Bishop
Museum Press.
1974
TAPA, LIFE AND WORK ON A SOUTH SEA ISLAND (MOCE). 16 mm film,
colour, sound, 23 minutes. Utrecht: Stichting Film en Wetenschap.
1977
Tapa on Moce Island, Fiji, a traditional handicraft in a changing society.
Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 21. Leiden: Brill.
1984 Art, art objects and ritual in the Mimika culture. Mededelingen van het
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 24. Leiden: Brill.
Kooijman, Simon, and H. H. Frese
1958 Nederlands-Nieuw-Guinea in Leiden, de representatie van de culturen
van Westelijk Nieuw-Guinea in het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde.
Nieuw Guinea Studiën 2:94-108.
39
2
SIMON KOOIJMAN ON MOCE ISLAND, FIJI
Alberc Trouwborst
One of the main tasks of a curator who is responsible for part of the
collection of an ethnographic museum is the registration and care of
the material entrusted to him. The work includes description of the
objects. The description must not be limited to physical characteristics
such as dimensions. colours ancl the material used, but should include
information about the role and meaning of the object in the society
to which it once belonged. This means that a good description will
contain as many details as possible on the technique used to produce
the object, the people ïnvolved in its production, the context in which
and the purpose for which it was made, and the use to which it was
put.(Kooijman 198()a:51)
The quotation at the head of this article adequately sums up Kooijman's
own conception of his task as a museum curator, and contains a programme
for the study of material culture to which he has faithfully adhered himself.
In the same article from which the quotation is taken Kooijman also stresses
the importance of field studies, i.e-, 'investïgation of the culture in the region
Figure 5. Simon and
To Kooijman in one
of the masi gardens
of Vagariki, 2 July
1973. tPholo by
Steven Symonds)
40
of origin itself' (ibid.:5D). This recommendation has also been put into
practice by Kooijman himself, particularly in his field research on Moce in
1973, which he carried out with his wife To (fig. 5). The book he published
on the basis of this research, Tapa on Moce Island, Fiji. Handicraft in a
Changing Society (1977b), should be considered as a perfect model for the
way in which a study on material culture ought to be carried out and written
about. It contains comprehensive and detailed descriptions of the making
of tapa, beginning with the geographical environment and the cuitivation of
the basic material, in this case the bark of the mulberry tree; the technical
equipment used; ending with the techniques of making the various types of
tapa, and their ornamentation. Kooijman tells us how much time is taken up
by the various stages in the making of tapa; the names of the workers and
the native terms of all the objects involved. The author has taken all the
necessary measurements, and supplies statistical data where required. The
book is richly iUustrated with numerous photographs and drawings which
constitute an essential addition to the written text. It is not a treatise on a
long-forgotten traditional handicraft, but rather it gives a thorough documentation of a living phenomenon and the changes this has undergone,
especially under the influence of the tourist trade.
I must point out here that Kooijman appears to be most interested in the
technical aspects of tapa fabrication, as the title of his book suggests. I
should add, however, that he also provides a great deal of information on
the ceremonial use of tapa, and on the use of tapa in diverse kinds of
exchange. It is also true that he sometimes mentions the artistic or aesthetic
aspects, but mostly only in passing, and without a systematic discussion of
the extent to which the tapa products are conceived as a category of art in
Moce society itself. Typically, in the article he wrote about the presentation
of his material in an exhibition in the National Museum of Ethnology
(Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde), he mentions the one room in which
tapas were exhibited, selected 'for their aesthetic and artistic quality', and
adds that these were 'presented without any commentary...' (Kooijman
1980a:65). I will come back to this question later when I discuss the only
article written by Kooijman on Moce, where the title refers to the tapas as
'art'.
Regarding the social and economie aspects of the tapa complex Kooijman gives us detailed descriptions of various ceremonies during which
different kinds of tapa are used, and of the exchanges between the partners
involved. In this book as well as in other publications (especially 1977a,
1980b and 1981) he pays a good deal of attention to the various kinds of
exchanges such as trade, barter and gifts in which the people of Moce are
involved.
In writing up his results he sought advice from all kinds of experts in
fields he was not familiar with, such as botany, zoology, soil analysis and
linguistics. In addition to all this Kooijman made a film, colour transparencies and black-and-white photographs. On the basis of his research, an
exhibition was created in 1974-1975 called Zuidzee uit de doeken (The South
41
Seas Unveiled): see also Dirk Smidt's and Ger van Wengen's contributions
to this volume. The completeness and perfection of the data collected and
presented by Kooijman are quite astonishing, taking into account the
shortness of his visit to Moce, only eight months (from the end of January
to the beginning of September 1973), and the fact that he never had the
opportunity to go back for a follow-up study.
It is my intention in this article to present a critical evaluation of
Kooijman's publications on his Moce research in the light of to-day's
discussions and insights in anthropology, in order to place his work within
the context of the history of ethnography in the Netherlands.
Kooijman and ethnography
Let me first stress that Kooijman's research and his publications on Moce
should be understood as the studies of a museum anthropologist working
with material objects. His primary goal is to know more about the
manufacture of tapa and the nature of its. products. Everything else
described in the book and in the other publications on Moce derives its
relevance from this goal. This means that Kooijman could allow himself the
rather aloof and 'objectifying manner' of writing to which he seems to be
most inclined, and which is also reflected in his photography. Describing the
way in which barkcloth is beaten does not require emotional involvement,
nor does it easily invite the turns of a phrase of a literary imagination.
Therefore it is quite understandable that the book is written in a straightforward, down-to-earth style.
In accordance with this approach Kooijman himself does not come to the
foreground in his writings. He appears as the outsider looking from a
distance at the subjects of his research. It is typical of his attitude that there
is not a single photograph of himself in his publications. Only his wife To
can sometimes be seen in one of the pictures, for instance in figure 90 of his
Moce book (plate 1).
Information on details of the way in which he carried out his research and
on the nature of his relations with his informants are rather scanty. We know
from personal communication that he had to stay in a tent on the border of
the settlement in which the population lived (fig. 6), and that he had to cope
with a certain amount of distrust and jealousy on the part of some wives.
Simon and To succeecled, however, in making some friends. Commenting
on the situation, Simon himself once used the expression of 'reserved
acceptance'.
In Kooijman's publications on Moce, nothing can a found of any rustlingof-the-palms romanticism. On the contrary, his writings can be described as
factual, unromantic and unexotic. They can to a certain extent be placed in
a tradition of ethnography which was still considered valid well into the
seventies. This tradition required the field anthropologist to have sympathy
42
Plate 1. To Kooijman taking part in an exchange of traditional presents between bride and
grooni during fieldwork on Moce Island. The bride and her relatives are carrying a
barkcloth of the gatu vakatoga ('Tongan' capa) type (front) and a mat (rear). (Photo by
Simon Kooijman)
Figure 6. Kooijman's wife To in front of the tent where they livcd during their fieldwork on
Moce Island, 1 April 1973. (Photo by Simon Kooijman)
43
for the population, and also as far as possible to participate in the lives of
the informants, as long as this did not go too far. The anthropologist was not
supposed to 'go native' and should keep a certain distance in order to be
able to remain objective. As has been said before, this is quite possible and
acceptable in the study of material culture as conceived by Kooijman.
In other respects Kooijman's interests in material culture in those years
were not very popular in anthropology. The generation of students coming
into anthropology af ter the war, some of whom (as I did myself) had entered
the museums in the 1950s, had little interest in studying this aspect of
culture. Despite the fact that in Leiden, students of anthropology followed
their anthropology lectures in the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, they
were never taken by Professor J. P. B. de Josselin de Jong, who had a room
in the building, to see the collections. This may have been under the
influence of British social anthropology, to be distinguished from ethnology, which had become quite popular in those years. Ethnology was
relegated to the museums and did not enjoy much prestige among anthropologists. It was considered to represent what was called an antiquarian
kind of interest in 'primitive peoples'. The new generation of anthropologists was more interested in social, economie and political anthropology
than in museum anthropology, and in general theoretical approaches such
as functionalism and structuralism. Young anthropologists accepted jobs in
museums because there were no other possibilities of employment for an
anthropologist elsewhere.
In the 1960s and up to the end of the 1970s other fashions became
popular in anthropology. For some time neo-Marxist anthropology was a
dominant approach, highly critical towards traditional anthropology, but
transactional theories also gained great influence. Both approaches had
little affinity with museum anthropology and the study of material culture,
probably because these were considered outdated and without relevance
for social, economie or political issues. Poverty, class struggle and revolution were the key terms.
We should realize that it was in the same period in which Kooijman did
his fieldwork and wrote his studies on Moce, that books such as Talal Asad's
Anthropology and the colonial encounter( 1973), Godelier's Perspectives in
Marxist anthropology (1977) and Boissevain's Friends of friends (1974)
appeared. One of the reasons why Kooijman has never referred to theoretical developments of this kind is, probably, that they contain little of interest
to the study of material culture.
Regarding the growing concern of anthropologists in the 1960s and the
1970s with ethical problems, there are signs that Kooijman was aware of
their relevance. He refers for instance to his colleague Nooter's publications
on this issue, but does not systematically investigate them himself. He only
incidentally mentions the fact that he did not collect certain items with
'strong emotional value for the owners' or certain kinds of 'furniture and
household equipment' because this would have had 'a disruptive effect'
(1980a:35-36). We can be sure also that he cared greatly for the well-being
44
of the people in this part of the Pacific, especially in regard to the negative
as well as positive aspects of the tourist trade.
Kooijman does not, generally speaking, specify the way he acquired his
objects, though information on the names of the sellers and the prices he
paid are given on the documentation cards (see his collection 4706-1 to
4706-225 in the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde). In his Moce book, an
occasional reference to this matter can be found; for instance, in the case
of a certain Pauline who was prepared to part with the tapa especially made
for her in exchange for Kooijman's transistor radio (1980a:69).
Mention has already been made of the artistic aspects of tapa production
and the ways in which these are treated by Kooijman. On several occasions
he expresses his own appreciation for the aesthetic quality of certain pieces
as when he speaks of the 'acme of artistic expression' (1981:46) in the case
of the type gatu vakaviti. He adds however that, in the making, little room
is left for 'individual variation' and that the most important criterion in the
evaluation of this kind of tapa appears to be length and the technical skill
of the maker.
Concerning another kind of tapa, the masi ni sala, he also uses the
expression the 'acme of tapa manufacture' because 'on Moce both technically, in the highly refined procedure, and aesthetically, this kind of tapa is
the most highly valued by the people themselves' (1977b:36). In general
however, here also care and finesse are decisive factors in the evaluation,
for instance when comparisons are made between traditional products and
tapas made for the tourist trade (ibid.:104).
In conformity with these standards on Moce itself, Kooijman's treatment
of the tapa complex is formulated mostly in terms of a handicraft, in
conformity with the subtitle of his book. This is reflected in the terminology:
tapas are 'products' and not works of art, they are evaluated as products of
technical perfection, and the makers of tapa are never called artists. When
Kooijman gives an appreciation of tapa it is mostly in terms of 'quality',
whether inferior or high. It is not surprising therefore that in only one of his
publications on Moce is the term 'art' used explicitly.
Finally, the introduction to the book gives a description of the geographic
environment and the means of livelihood on Moce, but we can find no
details about the social and political organization of the island. Kooijman's
interest clearly lay elsewhere. It is only in the texts on the various
ceremonies that he gives some information on the position of the 'chiefs' and
on family relations between the contributors and the participants.
Kooijman and theory
A typical feature of Kooijman's writings, already mentioned, is the virtual
absence of references to anthropological theory and anthropological theoretical literature. His Moce book for instance refers only to publications in
the restricted field of mainly descriptive ethnographic Pacific studies. He
also rarely ventures into theoretical interpretations.
45
Apparently he did not want to depart too far from his empirical material,
and found little inspiration in existing theoretical literature. He cannot,
however, be accused of being interested only in the enumeration of facts.
It is clear that he aimed at presenting the manufacture of tapa as a whole
of interconnected elements, and he was able to do this thanks to his wide
and deep knowledge of this culture complex in general.
Only one explicit theoretical interpretation in Kooijman's Moce studies
is to be found i.e., in his Bijdragen article (1980b): On ceremonial exchange
and art on Moce Island (Fiji) with the subtitle: A functional interpretation
of a tapa design. One will notice here the designation 'functional', the term
he most often uses when referring to his own interpretations. He employs
a very wide definition of the term as applied to the study of material culture,
meaning by functionalism a full description of an object including its
purpose, use, role and meaning (see especially Kooijman 1980a:51).
In his Bijdragen article (1980b) he tells us that this functional approach
implies the 'analysis and interpretation of the pattern of the gatu vakaviti(a
kind of decorated tapa cloth discussed in this article, A.T.) in close
relationship with the ceremonial function of the cloths'. He adds that such
an approach 'will lead us to a fairly well-based hypothesis about the
meaning of the stencilled pattern on the gatu vakaviti, as well as the
non-verbal message conveyed by it' (1980b:48-49). He ends with the
conclusion that the message of the pattern is 'dominated by the principles
of balance, symmetry and alternation' corresponding to the atmosphere of
'perfect harmony that characterizes the end of the wedding' (ibid.:50), a
ceremony in which the tapa cloth plays a central röle. This of course is a kind
of reasoning that he might have called 'structural', considering the notions
of message, meaning and opposition are used in the analysis. Here again,
one must note that it is typical of Kooijman that he does not refer at all to
the existing theoretical literature on the subject, and restricts himself to this
one example of structural analysis. To be fair, it should be added that the
elements of the decorations possibly may not have any explicit meaning on
which to base a structural analysis. Kooijman himself concludes that the
names of the elements give 'no information at all about the meaning and
function of the pattern' and that he therefore had to give up this 'line of
enquiry' (ibid.:48).
Kooijman on exchange
As regards the social and economie aspects of the tapa complex,
Kooijman has paid most attention to barter, trade and gift exchange,
probably because in Moce society these phenomena are very conspicuous
in connection with decorated barkcloth. The subject gives me the opportunity to enter into more detail about Kooijman's kind of ethnography.
First, by way of a preliminary remark, I want to point out that Kooijman
again refrains from referring to the theoretical literature, in this case on
46
exchange. This may sound surprising as the subject must have been familiar
to him, especially in the Leiden environment in which he was working.
Maybe it was a wise thing for him not to go into this matter. The subject is
a complicated one, and to discuss it would distract him from the immediate
task at hand: presenting his empirical material.
One of the problems involved is that exchange can be approached from
many points of view, among which it would not be easy to choose.
Moreover, the priority Kooijman gave to the technical aspects of the tapa
complex left him little time to collect data in terms of research on the Unes
of exchange theory.
In my discussion of Kooijman's data on exchange I will begin by
outlining the main kinds of exchange distinguished by him.
First, there is the distinction between what Kooijman calls 'vertical
exchanges' (i.e., exchange between a 'chief' and 'the common people' about
which he does not give much detail) and 'horizontal exchanges', i.e.,
exchanges between partners of equal status which he treats extensively. The
horizontal exchanges comprise, for instance, those which take place
between pairs of islands, and are described by Kooijman in terms of barter
and trade. This trade, is based on a system of specialisation in which the
island of Moce is the exporter of food and tapa cloths, and other islands are
the suppliers of wooden beaters and anvils for the fabrication of barkcloth
and of plaited mats. The exchanges take place in a traditional setting 'within
existing family and barter relations'. Informants even spoke of 'gifts' and 'no
mention was made of a reciprocal gift with a specific value', the exchange
forming part of an 'extensive system of mutual obligations' (1977b:27).
Kooijman discusses in detail a kind of exchange called matana between
women from Moce furnishing tapa cloth, and women from other islands
delivering plaitecl mats. Two individuals take the initiative in mobilizing
other women who will participate in pairs according to specific understandings.
On the island of Moce itself of course, many exchanges take place.
Kooijman gives examples of a wedding and a certain mourning ceremony,
in principle organized some hundred days (apparently 'nights' in the
terminology of the Moce people themselves) after the burial.
In the case of a wedding all kinds of exchanges take place, and festive
meals are presented by the two families involved. A symbolically important
distinction made by Kooijman is that between (on the one hand) presents
called fewfrzconsisting of mats and a certain kind of valuable barkcloth, and
considered by Kooijman as a typically female contribution to the wedding
ceremonies according to 'the female model of exchange' (1981:106), and (on
the other hand) the masculine ceremonial contribution in the form of food
and gifts of tabua, sperm-whale teeth (1980a:44). The difference is that butu
is characterized by harmony and a strictly balanced exchange of goods
(ibid. :46) in opposition to the 'rivalry and prestige-hunting' typical of the
male contribution. The female harmony and balance is refleeted in the
decoration of the barkcloth which play a central role in the final stage of a
wedding, as discussed at the end of the foregoing paragraph.
47
Another important ceremony Kooijman describes is called vakataraisulu, a ceremony held (in principle) a hundred 'nights' after a death to mark
the end of a period of mourning. On the occasion of such a ceremony,
witnessed by Kooijman during his stay on Moce, was the presentation of a
runner-like tapa of great length and beauty, made by the female relatives of
the deceased to the chief of the island. This tapa was cut into pieces and
distributed, giving great prestige to the organizers. The receivers were not
expected to reciprocate the gift, as the reward was supposed to lie in the
public admiration and esteem gained by the relatives of the deceased. Only
in a case like the one cited by Kooijman, of Moce people living in Suva,
capital of the Fiji Archipelago, were gifts for the tapa expected and given in
return (1981:103-104).
Finally, Kooijman pays a good deal of attention to modern forms of
exchange, for instance the trade in western consumer goods and the trade
in tapa for the rapidly growing tourist industry. Kooijman's detailed
descriptions show that, even on a small island like Moce with no more than
some 500 inhabitants, a great variety of sometimes complicated forms of
exchange exist which it is not easy to place in neat categories.
Kooijman has, as we have seen, made several efforts to bring some order
into this confusing reality. Thus one can find in his publications such
distinctions as those between horizontal and vertical exchanges, between
female and masculine models of exchange, between traditional and modern
kinds of exchange, between exchange in a materialist context and exchange
in a ceremonial context.
The terms used here are all rather common-sensical but there is one that
invites some comment, i.e., the concept of balanced exchange. As one will
remember (see above) this concept was applied by Kooijman to the female
model of exchange called butu with its 'strict reciprocity' (1981:106), but is
also quite well known in anthropology since its introduction by Sahlins
(1965). Both these authors, however, do not attach exactly the same
meaning to it. Though they agree that balanced reciprocity refers to direct
exchange and that 'the reciprocation is the customary equivalent of the thing
received and is without delay' (Sahlins 1965:148-149) many of the balanced
exchanges mentioned by Sahlins belong to the category of 'trade' and
'buying and selling' and actions involving 'primitive money'. Moreover,
balanced reciprocity is in his eyes 'less personal' and 'more economie' than
what he calls 'generalized exchange', i.e., 'the solidary extreme'. According
to the latter characterization butu, associated as it is with 'harmony and
unity', should be called generalized rather than balanced exchange.
Another writer devoting a detailed discussion to the concept of balanced
reciprocity is Van Baal (1975) who associates it with trade. For him '... trade
is a matter of bargaining, it is always balanced, or at least meant to be
balanced, and it is impersonal' (ibid.:43)- In my comments on Van Baal's
considerations (Trouwborst 1981) I expressed my doubts concerning the
usefulness of connecting the term 'reciprocity' with the notion of balance.
'Reciprocity', according to my view refers to a principle which is the basis
48
of a continuous movement of prestations versus counterprestations. It is a
kind of perpetuum mobile (ibid.: 192). Moreover, in the words of Sahlins
cited by Van Baal (ibid.:37) himself: 'Balance in exchange may tend toward
self-liquidation'.
In view of Kooijman's data on butu I suggest now that, though it may be
true that this particular kind of exchange can be considered as being in
balance, it cannot be seen in isolation . It must be placed in the context of
all the continuing exchanges taking place before, during and after a
wedding.
I also want to point out that, although in the case of trade one can often
speak of a balance in the sense of immediate returns, the picture Kooijman
draws of trade in the Fiji archipelago is somewhat different. He tells us: 'This
form of exchange is materially balanced although reciprocity may be
somewhat deferred... the exchange is essentially non-balanced, which
implies the continuaton of mutual obligations and prestations' (1980b:43).
Apparently Kooijman had some difficulty here with the terminology and
it would maybe have been useful if he had referred to Sahlins and other
authors like Barth (1966) on exchange theory. He could have treated more
systematically the way in which the different forms of exchange are related
to each other, or for instance the way in which bargaining plays a role in
exchange.
Here, however, a problem arises. The question is, to what extent can a
student of material culture be supposed to be familiar with, and to work
with, all kinds of theories to which his subject can be related. As we all
know, in recent years many new subdisciplines in anthropology have arisen,
each with its own theoretical ambitions: for instance, economie anthropology, symbolic anthropology, the anthropology of communication, ecological anthropology, political anthropology and so on, and it has to be
considered impossible for one single researcher to master them all.
When therefore, Kooijman insists that a student of material culture
should 'penetrate other aspects, other sides of life and thus includes other
aspects - social, economie, religious - in his research' (1980a:51) one
wonders how he imagines this can be realized. Does not the museum curator
run the risk that, whenever he ventures into one of these 'other sides', he
fails in his theoretical mastery of the subject matter?
In my opinion Kooijman's solution to this problem has been to choose
to be first of all a museum curator, a documentalist in the field of material
culture. This means for him that objects are the point of departure for
everything he has undertaken, and the principle for the ordering of his data.
This is shown for instance in his Moce book, in which his data concerning
various ceremonies are put into chapters about certain kinds of tapa rather
than in chapters of their own.
His plea for taking into account the diverse aspects of culture into his
analyses has to be understood in the sense that he restricts himself to their
immediate relevance without involving himself in theoretical speculations.
There is of course some danger involved here and such an approach has
its limitations. However, it leaves the researcher at liberty to spend his
energy and time on documentary éfforts. Kooijman's wide and thorough
49
knowledge, and the impressive number of his publications which will stand
the rest of time, have been possible only because he has chosen this way.
Conclusions
Kooijman's book and other publications on Moce can be placed in a long
and respectable tradition of studies of material culture which I would like
to call 'documentary ethnography'. It has much in common with what is
sometimes called the 'natural history approach' in anthropology (Trouwborst 1970:133). Kroeber has described such an approach as follows: 'The
phenomena are given as directly as possible and in their contextual relation
of occurrence. This context is preserved: if explanations are made, they are
marginal as it were, and do not fundamentally disturb the context' (Kroeber
1963:110). In this light we can understand what Kooijman means by
functional analysis. It is to show the directly observable connections of an
object to its material and social environment: it has no immediate theoretical
implications.
His publications on Moce represent a genre of ethnography in its own
right, whose value withstands the ages and is for all times. Such a tradition
of ethnography is less subject to signs of wear than are theoretical
speculations. Kooijman's publications on Moce have this timeless character,
and provide the basic materials on which others can build. By writing them
he has admirably fulfilled his tasks as a curator.
References cited
Baal, J. van
1975
Reciprocily and the position of ivomen. Anthropological Papers. Assen:
Van Gorcum.
Barth, F.
1966
Models of social organization. Occasional paper 23. London: Royal
Anthropological Institute of Great-Britain and Ireland.
Kooijman, S.
1977a Ruilhandel en geldeconomie op een Zuidzee-eiland. Verre Naasten
Naderbij 11:65-80.
1977b Tapa on Moce lsland, Fiji, a traditional handicraft in a changing society.
Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 21. Leiden.
1980a A South-Sea island in Leiden. In: W. R. van Gulik, H. S. van der Straaten
and G. D. van Wengen (eds.), From field-case to show-case, research,
acquisition and presentation in the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde,
Leiden. Amsterdam: J. C. Gieben. Pp. 51-69.
1980b Ceremonial exchange and art on Moce Island (Fiji), a functional interpretation of a tapa ciesign. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land-, en Volkenkunde
136:41-51.
1981 Traditional exchange and western products in the Lau Islands, Fiji. In: R.
W. Force and B. Bishop (eds.), Persistence and exchange. Papers from a
symposium on ecological problems of the traditional societies of the
50
Pacific Region. XIV Pacific Science Congress, Khabarovsk, USSR, 1979.
Honolulu: Pacific Science Association. Pp. 101-108.
Kroeber, A.
1963
An anthropologisl looks at history. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Sahlins, M. D.
1965
On the sociology of primitive exchange. In: The relevance of models for
social anthropology. A.S.A. Monographs 1. London: Tavistock Publications. Pp. 139-236.
Trouwborst, A. A.
Observatie, descriptie en analyse in de culturele antropologie. In: Liber
1970
Amicorum E. M. A. A. J. Allard. Nijmegen: Verenigde Instituten voor
Culturele antropologie en Sociologie der niet-westerse Volken, Katholieke Universiteit. Pp. 129-145.
Reciprocity, gift exchange, and trade in Dutch structuralist anthropology.
1981
In: G. A. Moyer, D. S. Moyer and P. E. de Josselin de Jong (eds.). The nature
ofstructure. ICA Publications 45. Institute of Cultural and Social Studies,
Leiden University. Pp. 185-206.
Van Baal see: Baal, J. van
51
3
SIMON KOOIJMAN'S VISION OF PERMANENT
DISPLAYS AND TEMPORARY EXHIBITIONS
Dirk A. M. Smidt
From the time he entered the museum service on 1 August 1943 to his
retirement on 1 March 1980, Simon Kooijman was responsible for both the
content and the visual presentation of the permanent display for the Oceania
department.1 This responsibility covered the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde (National Museum of Ethnology) in Leiden and since 1956 the annex
at the Breda museum (the Ethnological Museum Justinus van Nassau, Breda
department of the Leiden National Museum of Ethnology).2 When he joined
the museum as research assistant, he was given responsibility for the 'South
Seas and Australia' collections 'which had been abandoned for years' (Le
Roux 1944:2).3 In the period 1944-1945 the Indonesia and South Seas
department, which was far too large, was divided into two separate
departments: 'Indonesia' and 'South Seas', the latter including the extensive
West New Guinea collection, with the addition of the modest collections for
Australia (Le Roux 1946:1). While still research assistant Kooijman had the
management of this new 'South Seas and Australia' department, since this
had no curator. In the annual report for 1944-1945 the Director at that time
asserted that, 'in principle', the department concerned, like the other three
departments existing in that period 'will, in the long run, be given its own
curator who will be supported in several departments by a research
assistant' (ibid.). Kooijman became curator in 1946, but the research
assistant was never appointed.
1
This paper, written oiïginally in Dutch, was translated by Enid Perlin. I am grateful to Dr.
David Stuart-Fox and Ad Smidt for comments on an earlier version of the paper. Wim Rosema
was most helpful in assembling photographic material and accompanying documentation from
which a selection was made to illustrate this paper.
2
In 1956 the ethnographical museum of the Royal Military Academy in Breda was turned over
to the Ministry of Education, Arts and Sciences. The National Museum of Ethnology which came
under this Ministry was given the responsibility to develop the ethnographical museum in
Breda as an annex of the Leiden museum (Nauta 1980:97).
3
Many English quotations in the text of this article are translated from Dutch language
publications. For pragmatic reasons the author has refrained from presenting the original Dutch
texts. As all quotations are properly referenced by name of author, year and page number(s),
the reader is referred to the original sources. By looking up the full references in the
bibliography with the article the reader will be able to assess whether the quotation is taken
from an English or Dutch source.
52
The first few years constituted a settling-in period under difficult wartime
conditions. The measures that had to be taken to protect the collections in
the event of air-raids rendered the exhibits temporarily inaccessible. After
the war, political circumstances prevented Kooijman from exercising his
curatorial function for a period of some four years: the tense relationship
between the Netherlands and its colony of the Dutch East Indies (the
present-day Indonesia), fighting for its independence, meant that he was
once more conscripted for military service, in spite of having fulfilled his
military obligations before the war.
In the annual report for 1947 the Director openly expressed the hope that
the time would not be long before Kooijman once more resumed his work
in the museum. Nevertheless this wish was not to be granted for another
three years (Locher 1949:3). Kooijman was trained in the United Kingdom
as an officer in the Dutch Army (ibid.:2), and was then given six months
leave (June-December 1946) to allow him to work in the museum. Then from
May 1947 to April 1950 he served with the army in Indonesia, where he was
posted to the Netherlands Forces Intelligence Service (Locher 1947:2; Locher
1951:2; Kooijman 1994:12). In the meantime, on 1 September 1946 he was
appointed temporary curator - not, however of the South Seas/Australia
department, but of the Africa and America department (Locher 1948:1). After
A. A. Gerbrands joined the museum as research assistant on 1 January 1947,
it was decided that Gerbrands should take over the Africa and America
department from Kooijman, and that after Kooijman returned from the army,
he should resumé the management of the South Seas/Australia department.
After demobilisation Kooijman returned to the Netherlands in 1950,
resuming his post in the museum on 13 June of that year (Locher 1951:2).
From that time on he was in a position to give further consideration to
changes in public displays, and could begin to think of concepts for
temporary exhibitions. Nevertheless, his museum work was to be interrupted for a second period; he was granted study leave from December 1952
until May 1954 in order to conduct a population study among the Marindanim of South New Guinea (Kooijman 1959b).4 This circumstance was,
however, to be of unexpectedly great importance for the museum (see
below).
One of Kooijman's important tasks in his working life as curator was the
presentation of the collections by means of exhibitions and publications, in
addition to his concern for the permanent displays. In permanent displays
he covered a particularly extensive and varied geographical territory:
Polynesia, Melanesia, Micronesia, and Australia. Several of his exhibitions
showed the same broad territorial coverage. Others were centred on a
particular region (New Guinea) or were confined to a particular area or
culture: Moce (Fiji), Sentani (West New Guinea), Asmat (West New Guinea),
the Trobriand Islands (Papua New Guinea). In a variety of publications
(sometimes in cooperation with other authors) he concentrated specifically
4
This was a project set up by the South Pacific Commission, on the initiative of Dr. J. van Baal,
at that time head of the Kantoor voor Bevolkingszaken (Office of Population Affairs), Hollandia
(now Jayapura). 'The aim of the study was to examine the causes of numerical decline among
the Marind in the first two decades of this century, and the demographic development that
could be expected in the near future, in the light of the current situation' (Kooijman 1994:16).
SIMON KOOIJMAN'S VISION OF PERMANENT DISPLAYS
53
Figure óa. Map of Oceania showing locations of relevance to Simon Kooijman's work. (Map
by I'. E. Bijvoet)
54
on a particular region or area, as was the case with most of the exhibitions.
At the same time, publications of this kind opened up important features of
the collection in the National Museum of Ethnology to an international
public: southwest New Guinea (Kooijman 1956); MacCluer Gulf (Kooijman
1962a); the Star Mountains (Kooijman 1962b); Asmat (Hoogerbrugge and
Kooijman 1976); noithwest New Guinea (Kamma and Kooijman 1973); Moce
(Kooijman 1977a); Mimika (Kooijman 1984); the Wakde-Yamna area,
Humboldt Bay, and Lake Sentani (Kooijman and Hoogerbrugge 1992), to
mention the most important examples.'
Besides its wide geographical range, Kooijman's work also reveals an
extensive range of themes which offer various cultural aspects for our
consideration. We can mention the tapa complex as the foremost theme in
his scholarship. He published a Standard work on tapa in Polynesia
(Kooijman 1972a); a study of the tapa complex of Moce, Fiji, which was
based on his own fieldwork (Kooijman 1977a); and a study of Indonesian
barkcloths (Kooijman 1963)- Other prominent themes in his work were
connected with, for instance: navigation; the function and meaning of
woodcarving in the Lake Sentani-Humboldt Bay and the Asmat regions; and
the role played by iron and iron-working in West New Guinea. In one way
or another, these themes were represented in the permanent displays and
temporary exhibitions which Kooijman created, whether as the main subject
or as part of a wider presentation.6 Various Dutch-language publications
drew the general public's attention to most of these themes, and to others
including fishing, pottery and children's games (see the bibliography of
Simon Kooijman's works, in this volume).
Kooijman frequently created a practical museological connection between a temporary exhibition and the permanent display. After being
p2"esented in the temporary exhibition, some of its constituent parts were
moved into the permanent display. Thus in a certain sense the temporary
exhibition served as an experiment, since 'the effectiveness of the solutions
contemplated could be tested in practice' (Pott 1960:29). This 'permits us,
more than is possible in the public collection, to seek for what interests the
public at present, or indeed, to see whether its interest can be aroused'
(ibid.:10). The curator thus utilises the 'non-permanent exhibition as a form
of presentation experiment. This approach was used by Dr. S. Kooijman in
the Leiden museum (for example in connection with the South Seas
exhibition of 1959. DS) before he undertook the total rearrangement of the
Oceania section' (Nauta 1980:106).
Hereafter I shall confine my attention to a discussion of the permanent
displays and temporary exhibitions which Kooijman created, especially
those in the Leiden and Breda museums. Here, my point of departure is to
provide a better knowledge of less well-known aspects of Kooijman's work,
those which on the whole are not accessible in the form of English-language
publications.
5
For a survey of Kooijman's scholarly and museum activities with regard to the cultures of
noithwest New Guinea, see Smidt (1992:204-207).
6
With the exception of the Indonesian barkcloths for which region Kooijman, as curator, had
no responsibihty.
55
The permanent display in the National Museum of Ethnology
Right from the beginnings of the National Museum of Ethnology in 1837.
its founder, Dr. Ph. F. von Siebold, had his own iclea about how the contents
of the museum collections ought to be presented. After the general principle
of stimulating understanding for other peoples'. the aim must be to order
the colïection objects in such a systematic way that 'the first glance makes
the People knowable, and their characteristics are presented by a selection
of their products' (Von Siebold 1937:63). Tn an early permanent display- of
1883. this basis had already been worked out in detail, and the museum
visitor gained insight into it by means of an accompanying guidebook
written by the museum's director of that time. Within the context of a
geographical dïvision. the material culture was divided up according to
theme (Serrurier 1883: see also Smidt 1992).
Obviously, there were to be incidental changes over the course of time.
until a new permanent display was shown in a new setting (the present
building, which had fallen vacant after the end of its life as a hospital).
Photographs of this display show that there was some kind of geographic
partition, the themes appearing within this division. On the whole it was
arranged according to the aesthetic standards of that time (Rassers 1937;
Visser 1938), but partly also with the kind of set-up which the post-wai
museum world would come to regard as old-fashioned (fig. 7). After the
Second World War the first curator of the South Seas and Australia
department, Simon Kooijman, soon began to see the need for changing the
permanent display. After all:
Figure . Warrior' from the Gilberl
Islands (preseni-day Kiribati) wearing
a blowfish heimet and a cuirass of
coconut fibre, and holding a sharktooth spear and sword. Surrounded
by an array of shark-tooth weapons il
was part of the permanent display of
the Oceanic section, National
Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, circa
1950. (Photo by WJJ. van Velzen or
C. Zwanenburg)
56
At that time museum spaces and display cases were still overfilled
with objects. There were only sporadic attempts to reveal the object's
function within the culture concerned: anccstor images, models of
boats, musical Instruments stood cheek-by-jowl, fishing nets hung
from ceilings, spears and arrows decoratcd the walls, gathered
togcther in a fan formation as the trophies of a private collection of
weapons. Under these circurnstances, heavy demands were made
upon the imagination of both museum guides and the visitors being
guided. (Kooijman 19ó2c:193)
Where the permanent displays are concerned, Simon Kooijman's most
important 'feat of arms' were the New Guinea and Oceania displays created
under hls guidance in Leiden (fig. 8) and in Breda (in conjunction with
Sjoerd Nauta. the director of the Breda museum at that time). After Serrurier
in 1882-1883- Kooijman was the first curator responsible for the content of
displays to express, in a publication, his basic principles and concept for a
new permanent arrangement - at all events. where Oceania was concerned
CKooijman and Frese 1958).
The first traces of Kooijman's activities in relation to the permanent
displays can already be found in the period 1944-1945. At that time:
the staff assembled smail handbooks. illustrated with photographs,
drawings and maps...These booklets...have met with a warm welcome. They are regarded as a great success, and completely suited to
ensuring a fruitful visit for those who want to delve further into the
Fjgure 8. Simon
Kooijman arrange.s
fine woodcarvings
from the Huon
Gulf and Astrolabe
Bay regions.
norlheast New
Guinea (Papua
New Guinea) in a
show-case of the
permanent dispiay
in the National
Museum of
Ethnology, Leiden,
1955. (Photo byC.
Zwanenburg)
57
objects displayed. The information in these typed booklets can serve
as the basis for small guidebooks for those wandering through the
different sections and subsections, which - as soon as there is a
favourable opportunity - can be printed. (Le Roux 1946:9)
Kooijman prepared no less than twenty-two of these booklets for the
South Seas and Australia department, which he later considered as mere
youthful exercises (Kooijman, pers. comm.). Each booklet dealt with a
particular subject, in one to twelve pages (with an average of four pages)
and most of the booklets directed the visitor to particular displays or show
cases (see appendix). These typed booklets functioned as room guides; the
visitor could consult them while looking at the display, handing them back
at the end of the visit. However, nothing came of the idea for a series of
printed books on specific subjects, although a general guidebook was
published some fifteen years later (Gids 1961). After Kooijman's retirement
a guide was published for one region: Nieuw Guinea, kunst, kunstvormen
en stijlgebieden (New Guinea, art, art forms and stylistic areas) (Kooijman
1984b).
In 1951 several small alterations were made to some of the display cases
for 'New Guinea and the South Seas' (Locher 1952:4). 1953 and 1954 were
to be crucial years. As a sideline to the investigation on the Marind-anim
population mentioned above, Kooijman succeeded in building up an
extensive and qualitatively exceptional collection by the acquisition of
objects from various groups of people active on the south and south-west
coast of New Guinea: government officials, missionaries, businessmen,
merchants, and a few scholarly researchers (Kooijman 1956:351). This
collection, consisting of some five hundred objects (mostly from among the
Asmat) were registered under the name 'Kooijman shipment, Merauke'
(series RMV 3070). Apart from objects for everyday use, weapons, body
ornaments and so on, the collection included impressive woodcarvings, for
example an ancestor or spirit pole (mbitorö) some seven metres tall, from
the Mimika area (see Kooijman 1984a:3, fig. 1; Kooijman 1987:109-110,
fig. l) 7 , and an assembly of Asmat shields and statues of a high aesthetic
Standard (Lamme and Smidt 1993:146).
This large and splendid acquisition showed Kooijman and his Director
that a complete revision of the New Guinea section of the public display was
necessary (Locher 1955:7). This was achieved in 1958. Prior to this however,
some incidental alterations to the display had been carried out. Thus a
naturalistic group of dummies of 'three Mountain Papuans from Dutch
Central New Guinea' put on display in 1940 (Rassers 1941:2, fig. opposit p.
6), consisting of two men (each with a penis gourd) and a woman, had to
be taken out of the public collection because 'these clearly caused offense
7
Kooijman's presentation and discussion of Mimika material collected by Jan Pouwer and
deposited in the National Museum of Ethnology (see Kooijman 1987) clearly shows how
impressed he -was by this post and how appreciative of the work done by the collector. The
pole is qualified by Kooijman as '...an unique, expertly documented and aesthetically extremely
valuable piece...' (Kooijman 1987:110). Significantly, he adds that the acquisition of it 'has in
no way impeded or disturbed the life of the individual or society [concerned]' (ibid.). The pole
was about to be discarded after having fulfilled its function during a feast.
58
among certain groups of visitors, and were aiso the occasion for Jess
desirable interest among young people growing up' (Pott 1957:12).
However, in 1956 a room devoted to New Guinea was reorganised to a
large extent; the changes were those:
in which the prime effort was to achieve the kind of display of
worthwhile and aesthetically significant material that would make a
thematic treatment possible. This will render a guided tour not only
much more effective, but also much livelier, while the individual
visitor gains a less chaotic impression of a whole which, for him, is
strange and variegated. (Pott 1958:13)
A numbcr of fine acquisitions from the previous years were shown in this
display. In completing the reorganization of the New Guinea display in 1957
and 1958 the deliberately chosen starting point was 'the desire to link [the
display] with the special needs of school education, and the capacities of the
educational department' (Pott 1959:11).8 The changes effected in the display
will now be discussed in some detail.
In the decade following the end of World War II, the West New Guinea
display in the Leiden museum was (within the general context of geographical divisions) arranged in three cultural regions: 1. the IndonesianMelanesian cultural region of the northern and western coastal areas; 2. the
Papuan cultures of the southern lowlands-, 3- the Central Highlands. In
renewing the New Guinea display a purely geographical division was
replaced by a thematic arrangement. In an introductory section the attempt
was made (in full consciousness of the great diversity of cultures in New
Guinea) to use a necessarily artificial concept such as 'The Culture of West
New Guinea', to draw attention to a number of general aspects: ecological,
technological, ceremonial, religious and artistic. Subsequently seven broad
subjects were presented: Sago Cultivation and Horticulture; Hunting and
Fishing (fig. 9); Raw Materials and Techniques; Objects for Everyday Use;
The Ceremony of Masks; Religion; Warfare, Tra de and Headhunting. At a
later stage a show case on art styles of New Guinea was included in the
display. Attention was drawn indirectly to the varied nature of New Guinea
cultures through the way in which the different themes were illustrated by
means of objects deriving from different areas (Kooijman and Frese 1958).
The display case devoted to Sago Cultivation and Horticulture indicated 'the
difference between the principal means of subsistence for the coastal and
plains dwellers, and that of the mountain peoples: cultivation of sago and
horticulture' [respectively] (ibid.: 101). The educational activities were accompanied by a series of slides which, after giving a general introduction,
concentrated on two specific cultural and geographical areas, so that the
public display and the educational programme complemented each other.
An essential feature of the permanent display Kooijman created was that,
in the presention of aspects of traditional cultures and the objects pertaining
to them, the arrangement emphasised that these things belonged, by and
large, to the past: 'For we also have to make it clear that the things shown
8
He collaborated with H. H. Frese on the educative aspects.
SÏMON KOOIJMAN'S VISION OF PERMANENT DISPLAYS
Figure 9. The newly installed show-case
on "jacht en visserij' OHuming and
fishing') in the New Guinea room of
the Oceanic section, National Museum
of Ethnology, Leiden, 1960. (Photo by
C. Zwanenburg)
in the museum present us, moreover, with an image of a time which already
belongs to the past, in many regions' (Kooij'man 1962c:194). Photographs of
modern \ e w Guinea were therefore also shown:
Papuans driving a farm tractor, and Papuan students from the Mission
technical school at Kota Radja in Hollandia with their school-leaving
certificates. In the showcase devoted to 'Religion', the modern aspect
is presented by a crucifix from Mimika in the form of an ancestor
image, and a photograph of the Van Hasselt Church at Biak, both
shown againstthe background of the old religious life. (Kooijman and
Frese 1958:103)
Kooijman established that, at first sight, the Christian religion is adopted
as easily and happily as "the material achievements of the west (clothing,
tools, weapons, machines)' so that a 'uniform culture' was developing. On
closer acquaintance, however, ït is clear that:
precisely in the field of religion, a great deal of the old has been
preserved. and that - particularly in times of crisis - ['the old'] is often
still alive and kicking, and can provide an anchorage which the new
religion cannot give. (Kooijman 1962c:194)
Kooijman, whose official status as 'curator for the South Seas and
Australia department' was changed into 'curator for the South Seas, New
Guinea and Australia department', began in the same year that the New
Guinea display was ready to préparé for a general reorganisation of the
60
South Seas section (Pott 1.959:23). 'The Melanesia room could be reopened
on 1 April 1960 (fig. 10); at the end of December the Polynesïa. Micronesia
and Australia rooms were once more opened to the public' (Pott 1962:27).
In 1961 'the rearrangement of the South Seas section was completed' (Pott
1963:39)- The same year saw the production of a general Dutch-language
guide to the whole permanent displays, including Oceania (Gids 1961): an
English version was to appear a year later.9
Figure 10. Newly installed display of masks and ancestor statues in the Melanesia room of
the Oceanic section. Naüonal Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, 1960. (Photo by C. Zwanenburg)
The new South Seas display drew attention to (among other things) 'food,
food preparation and techniques'. covering foodstuffs from both land and
sea. Fishing techniques were shown. along with stuffed fish to give a
semblance of reality. 'And the pike fishermen among the visitors saw. to
their amazement. that people in the South Seas al.so protected the end of
their lines from being bitten through, but using a small wooden plug rather
9
Ahhough the guide mentioned no authors' names. it is obvious that the parts on 'New
Cuinea' (pp. 177-190) and 'Polynesia and Micronesia' (pp. 190-202) were written by Kooijman.
A few years later he wrote a more extensive introduction on the peoples of Polynesia and
Micronesia in a ihree volume Dutch-language publication on non-western peoples and
cultures, edited by P. van Ernst (Kooijman 1964).
61
than a little piece of copper wire' (Kooijman 1962c: 194). One evocative
display, of an 'earth oven, just opened', showed how root crops such as taro
and yam, also fish and meat, were cooked in an oven of this kind (usually
after being wrapped in leaves) in many areas of the South Seas. A film on
the same topic (Koch 1954) was shown in the context of guided tours, as a
supplement to the permanent display.
The same film showed the preparation and decoration of barkcloth, or
tapa; these pictures were linked with the display showing a 'Samoan woman
beating tree bark' (Kooijman 1962c: 195). One remarkable aspect of this
display was the way in which the woman was:
almost entirely hidden in a shapeless, long and baggy dress, a copy
in tapa cloth of the 'Mother Hubbard' dress, the woman's attire
imported into the South Seas and derived from European fashion at
the turn of the century, under the missionaries' influence. This
introduced an historical perspective into the display ...10 [The fact] that
tapa and its preparation belonged to the old Polynesia, now disappearing or already vanished, is also suggested by a sample of printed
barkcloth from the Samoanische Zeitung of 1908 [at that time, before
World War I, the island was still a German possession, D.S.]. (ibid.)
As a counterweight to 'romantic representions' which 'have a tenacious
life and which still survive up to the present', the display gave an impression
of:
the hard struggle for a livelihood on a coral island, and this picture
has not changed: on these tiny pieces of land ... people have only
shells, coral and sharks' teeth as the raw materials for tools and
weapons, good timber (for making boats) is scarce, and the ground
water lies so deep that the people have to make 'sunken' gardens.
Could one wish for a better or more realistic companion piece to the
rosy picture so dear to us? (ibid.)
In 1962 a layout was prepared in the room next to the South Seas section
concerning 'navigation in Southeast Asia and the South Seas region', and
many model boats were restored for the purpose (Pott 1963:40). The display
provided an 'attractive and interesting picture of the many types of boats
found in this area' (Pott 1964:29). In that year partial changes were made in
the New Guinea room to improve the systematic and aesthetic aspects of the
display. These improvements particularly concerned the eastern part of the
island (ibid.).
Kooijman, surveying the alterations and improvements in the permanent
display at that time, stated:
Partly as a result of reflection on the museum's educational task, we
have arrived pretty well everywhere at a much better-ordered pres10
This dress replaced an earlier more traditional one which had left the upper part of the body
uncovcred, a fact which apparently had offended some visitors.
62
entation of material, and one that answers better to functional needs.
In this we have come to realise that the exhibition of the object, and
the way it is seen, cannot be the aim. The museum object is only the
means; the aim is the understanding of the culture from which the
object derives. (Kooijman 1962b: 193)
In 1965, Pott tells us:
an important gift to the museum ... once more necessitated a radical
reconsideration of the South-West New Guinea display; the large bisj
poles from the legacy of Michael Rockefeller (who had met his death
on the coast of the Asmat region in 1961) were arranged in as
functional a way as possible, and they were illustrated further by a
number of extremely good documentary photographs. (Pott 1967:40)
These poles were donated to the museum in 1962 by Michael Rockefeller's parents (Governor Nelson Roi kefeller and his wife Mary, of New York),
as a token of gratitude for the efforts made by the Dutch Government to tracé
their son. The display made use of the photographs taken by Michael
Rockefeller of the same poles in situ in the village of Otsjanep, on the Ewta
River, Casuarina Coast (Rockefeller 1967; the photographs are on pp. HOH l and 143-144) and of the photographs of the pole makers, the carvers
Bifarcq and Mbatumos (see plate 2 for its incorporation in the permanent
display at a later stage, c. 1978; see Smidt (1970) for a discussion of these
poles, illustrated with details and with photographs of the makers).
In 1968, once again, important acquisitions made it necessary to rethink
several aspects of the permanent display.11 For example, a well documented, large-sized slit gong from Ambrym (Vanuatu) was displayed, together
with a photograph of Tain Mal, an important headman who had ordered the
drum to be made (Kooijman 1968:83). Besides this:
the display of barkcloth (tapa) from Melanesia was reorganised to
make it more functional, and to avoid the deterioration of certain
important pieces on account of having been exposed for a long time.
(Pott 1970:38)
In the following year (1969) even more radical alterations were introduced. Display cases showing objects connected with the means of
subsistence, such as hunting and fishing, the preparation of sago, and
horticulture, were now presented in 'a more orderly and functional way',
making use of recent photographic material (Pott 1971:36, il Is. 5 and 6). The
11
Meanwhile, in 1966 Kooijman was made Deputy Director of the Museum (Pott 1969:10). In
practice, this meant that he sometimes represented the Director at obligatory functions. Since
there was no question of a delegation of other tasks and responsibilities by the Director of that
time (Kooijman, personal communication), Kooijman's productivity as curator did not seem to
have suffered to any noticeable extent from this additional function. In 1968 his services to the
museum were recognised in the form of a royal honour: on the occasion of the 25th anniversary
of his museum service he was made an officer in the Order of Orange-Nassau (Pott 1970:19-20).
63
Plate 2. The New Guïnea room in the permanent display nf the Oceania section, National
Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, circa 1970. (Photo by Wim Rosema)
theme of navigation was also organised for presentation in a new way (ibid.:
ill. 4). A valuable monumental acquisition was fitted into rhc display. This
was a pole, some 450 cm tall, from the ccremonial men's house at
Kanganaman, Iatmul, the Middle Sepik region of Papua New Guinea
(plate 2). After this pole had been cast a.side (it was discovered lying next
to the men's house) perhaps after a quarrel. it was collected in 196"" by A.
A. Gerbrands. and was accjuired by the museum in 1968 (ibid.. III. 5:
Kooijman's description dated 25 May 1970. RMV 4329-1).
Where the reorganisation at the Breda museum was concerned. some
spectacular changes were made. The unique Mimika ancestor or spirit pole
(mbitoro), some seven metres tall. \\ hieh was collected by J. Pouwer in 1953
and acquired for the museum by Kooijman in 1954, was placccl in the
stairwell, and a slit gong from Ambrym (Vanuatu) was given a place in the
entrance hall of the museum (Pott 1971:47).
At the beginning of 1971 Kooijman took three months study leave in West
Polynesia (Samoa and Tonga) and in Fiji, where he carried out a trial
investigation into 'the fabrication. ornamentation and the sociai significance
of barkcloth material' (Pott 1973:25)-12 In the same year the organisation of
the Leiden museum display case providing a survey of the manufacturing
process and ornamentation of tapa was alterccl to include new material
(objects, photographs, slides) which Kooijman had collected during this
study trip. Furthermore. in 1973: 'in the room for navigation in Inclonesia and
12
This was made possible through a grant from the Wenner Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. New York.
64
the South Seas region ... elements were included which had formed part of
the exhibition 'Fai-la!" (ibid.:34), and in 1976 'the radical reorganisation of
the South Seas and New Guinea section' was virtually completed (Pott
1978:281).
In 1979 'plans [were] made to set up a genuine outrigger boat from the
South Seas region, complete with rigging, in the museum entrance hall' (Pott
1981a:253). This was the same boat used in a temporary exhibition at Breda
shortly before this (fig. 14). The plans were only to be realised after
Kooijman had retired in 1980. In 1981 the boat and all its rigging was
displayed in the entrance hall, together with a number of supplementary
texts, drawings and photographs on the methods of sailing and navigating
(Pott 1982:268). Thus once again we can see, at the end of Simon Kooijman's
career, how he had in fact been occupied throughout his whole museum life
with adapting the permanent display to encompass newly created options
and insights.
Temporary exhibitions
Generally speaking, most of the exhibitions Kooijman developed concerned Oceania or parts of this region.13 Kooijman also contributed to
thematic exhibitions organised in Leiden, in which material from all over the
non-western world (and sometimes from Europe as well, for purposes of
comparison) was used to illustrate a particular theme. Examples of these are:
'Boats from far-off countries' (1947); 'This is the way they see us' (1955);
'From clay to pot' (1956): 'Catch that fish!' (1961); 'This is the way they see
them, young Dutch people's depiction of the world' (1962-1963)- This last
exhibition offered 'a selection from the thousands of drawings the museum
has received as entries in the drawing competition for young people, on the
occasion of the 125th anniversary [of the museum]'. The drawings provided
a 'particularly instructive image ... of the existing stereotypes, still artificially
maintained, which distort our image of people throughout the world,
sometimes in a serious way' (Pott 1964:40).
The themes Kooijman selected for temporary exhibitions, his starting
point for each, and his choice of object type, show what he considered to
be important. He devoted particular interest to the themes of navigating in
the Pacific and the barkcloth complex. He had as much appreciation for 'art
objects' (fig. 8) as for 'objects for everyday use', but he rejected an
overwhelmingly aesthetic approach. At times the patron's wishes partly
determined matters: for example, the aesthetic side did actually take
precedence in the exhibitions 'The Art of Lake Sentani' held in New York
in 1959, and 'Papuan Art in the Rijksmuseum' in Amsterdam in 1966.
13
For the discussion on temporary exhibitions the author consulted several photograph
albums on the exhibitions of the National Museum of Ethnology and its Breda annex kept in
the photographic archive of the museum. These albums are not specifically referred to in the
text. A listing should suffice: Photograph album 'South Seas 1959' [Leiden]; Photograph album
'South Seas 1969' [Breda]; Photograph album 'Fai-la! Sailing in the South Seas 1972';
Photograph albums 'Argonauts of the South Seas 1972'; Photograph albums 'The South-Seas
unveiled 1974'; Photograph album 'Seventy years of Asmat woodcarving 1976-1977'.
65
However, detailed information on the content of the exhibitions was
provided in the accompanying guide or catalogue.
Kooijman attached the greatest importance to the explanation of an
object's function within its social context, and stressed that the processes of
manufacture ought not to be neglected:
... a good description will contain as many details as possible on the
technique used to produce the object, the people involved in its
production, the context in which and the purpose for which it was
made, and the use to which it was put (Kooijman 1980:51).
A curator, taking the function of material culture in a society as his
starting point: '... will have to penetrate other sides of life and thus include
other aspects - social, economie, religious - in his research' (ibid.).
Moreover, Kooijman linked his exhibition concepts with a more practiceoriented museological viewpoint, which took account of different categories among the visitors, each of whom had a different motive for visiting a
museum, and each of whom should consequently be offered something of
what he/she hoped to find. This point of view was articulated by Pieter H.
Pott, Director of the Museum from 1955 to 1982. He distinguished three
principal motives that might lead potential visitors to the museum:
(1) The wish to experience beauty (aesthetic approach); (2) the often
more or less romantic urge to leave the everyday grind for a short
while by seeking another place or time (romantic approach or
escapism); and (3) the wish to satisfy a certain thirst for knowledge
(intellectual approach). (Pott 1963:158)
With these visitor motives in mind, he argued in favour of a combination
of 'three forms of presentation differing in spirit and technique' (Pott 1969:9,
quoted in Nauta 1980:106). As we shall see shortly, Kooijman put into
practice (to a greater or lesser extent) the viewpoints Pott had formulated.
Among the important exhibitions which Kooijman created and developed in Leiden were: 'The South Seas' in 1959; 'Fai-la/Sailing in the South
Seas' in 1972 (Kooijman 1972b), and 'The South Seas unveiled' (Kooijman
1974c; 1980). Major exhibitions in Breda were 'Argonauts of the South Seas'
in 1972-1973, and 'Seventy years of Asmat woodcarving' in 1976-1977
(Hoogerbrugge and Kooijman 1976). The exhibitions 'South Seas' and 'Faila! Sailing in the South Seas' were also shown in Breda (in a somewhat
altered form) after Leiden. As we have already indicated, it often happened
that, after the closure of exhibitions, substantial elements from them were
incorporated into the permanent display. A good example of this is shown
in the display on the marriage ceremony on the island of Moce (Fiji), which
had formed part of the exhibition 'The South Seas unveiled' (Kooijman
1980:25, fig. 20). The major part of the exhibition 'The South Seas' was used
later for the permanent display. To a large extent this exhibition had
constituted:
66
an experimental preparation for the new arrangement of the museum's South Seas section ... The experimental nature [of the operation]
resided principally in the relationship between the number of objects
and explanatory photographs, the 'free' display of objects of all kinds,
and a deliberate presentation of the aesthetic, the educational and the
romantic [sic] side by side, but supporting rather than damaging each
other. (Pott 1960:41)
In this exhibition:
experiments in display methods were carried out in order to test the
public's reactions. In this we endeavoured to produce a display that
was instructive, on the one hand, but on the other was also suggestive
and which moreoever did justice to the aesthetic qualities of a number
of substantial pieces from the collections. (Pott 1962:27)
The South Seas 1959
The contemporary dimension presented above as an essential characteristic of the permanent New Guinea display can also be seen in the temporary
exhibitions created by Kooijman. In his 'South Seas' exhibition of 1959 he
devoted a great deal of attention, especially by means of photographs, to
modern developments which had introduced changes into the material
culture. As soon as one entered the exhibition, an introductory text
confronted the visitors with harsh reality (and this included people who
might be visiting the exhibition in a spirit of romantic escapism). The text
read:
Almost everything in this exhibition is from a time when there was
little, if any, European influence at work. However, for most of the
inhabitants of the South Seas, this time is already long past.
Kooijman was clearly attaching a question mark to the popular western
idea of the South Seas as an earthly paradi.se. The exhibition included
photographs showing examples of modern life: a Maori theological student
in academie gown, reading a study book; Hawai'ian entertainers playing
guitar and bass on Waikiki Beach; a multi-racial group of students from
Hawai'i; a dance performed by Hula girls as welcome for the crew of a
cruiser; a Fijian member of a municipal council; a telephone in a headman's
house in New Caledonia; new housing on Rongerik Atoll for the people of
Bikini; the medical staff of a mobile clinic, and a doctor in Samoa.
Photographs from Rarotonga were also shown: a book binder; a telegraphist; a dance with couples dressed in 'western' style; a sewing lesson;
people leaving church, and Polynesian nurses in a hospital. Photo panels
showed a comparison between 'then' and 'now', or the 'old life' versus
'modern times'. Although he did show beautiful aspects in a section entitled
'The beautiful life', he also presented the other side of the coin in a section
entitled 'The harsh life' which showed the struggle for subsistence in an atoll
61
Figurc 11. Seciion on Pacific sailing and navigation next to a show-case entitlcd 'Her harde
leven' ('The harsh life") -giving an indication of the struggle for subsistence in an atoll
environment - in the temporary exhibition "The South Seas', National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, 1959. (Photo by C. Zwanenburg')
environment, next to a section on sailing and navigation (fig. 11). Apart from
confronting the visitor with these contrasts, Kooijman gave a step-by-step
introduction to the people of Oceania, their environment and culture. The
subjects presented were arranged under such headings as 'The South Seas',
The South Seas: paradise on earth?', The people', 'Daily life', 'Sea and land',
'Royal highness', 'Weaving', 'Religion', 'Fishing', 'Masks and ancestor figures', 'Weapons and war', "Clothing and decoration', and 'Food preparation'.
In its totality, the exhibition not only presented various themes supported
by beautiful items from the collection, but also a fascinating diachronic
survey of South Seas cultures from the time of the first contact with the west
(illustratecl by, for example, prints made in response to Captain Cook's
voyages) up to the atomic age. illustrated with a photograph of an atomic
bomb test on Bikini.
The South Seas 1969
A similar diachronic approach, utilising comparable photographic material, appeared again ten years later, In the •South Seas' exhibition of 1969,
and also in 1970 in the renewed permanent display on Oceania. Both of
these were on show in the Breda annex.14
u
Por Kooijman's activities in relarion to the permanent display and exhibitions at Breda, see
Xauta (1980).
68
Although nowadays we may take for granted the importance that
Kooijman attached (not only in temporary exhibitions but also in permanent
presentations) to showing that South Sea islanders were no longer living in
the paradise Rousseau had imagined, and that Papuans no longer lived in
the Stone Age, it is nevertheless remarkable. This is all the more so when
we compare his displays with the public presentation of Oceania as it is so
often seen in a number of museums. However splendid these displays may
be, they often remain 'timeless' and 'aestheticised'.
Fai-la! Sailing in the South Seas 1972-1973
Apart from the idea of cultural diversity, the diachronic principle clearly
occupied the foreground in Kooijman's exhibition 'Fai-la! Sailing in the
South Seas', to be seen from 19 May 1972 to 10 January 1973- The visual
material used ranged from centuries-old prints to photographs showing
sailing techniques used for a modern catamaran on a Dutch lake. A modern
catamaran itself was also displayed in the exhibition. The exhibition did not
only include a presentation of seagoing canoes and associated aspects, but
also dug-out canoes used on rivers (or just the prowheads) from areas like
the Asmat (Southwest New Guinea) and the Sepik-Ramu estuary (Northeast
New Guinea). Besides the accompanying guide (Kooijman 1972b), Kooijman also used the opportunity 'to draw the attention of a wider public to
this exhibition by means of several articles in popular magazines such as the
'Waterkampioen' (Pott 1974:23) and the museum's own magazine 'Verre
naasten naderbij' (Kooijman 1972c).
Argonauts of the South Seas 1972-1973
After organising the exhibition 'Fai-la! Sailing in the South Seas' in
Leiden in the spring of 1972, Kooijman set up the exhibition 'Argonauts of
the South Seas' at Breda in the autumn of that year. This was in collaboration
with Sjoerd Nauta. This exhibition, on show from 22 November 1972 until
12 March 1973, provided a view of Trobriand Lslands culture. In addition to
items from the existing older collections in the Leiden museum, and items
borrowed for the occasion, the exhibition also showed a collection of some
two hundred objects (series RMV 4593) acquired in the same year. This welldocumented collection was assemblee! by a Dutchman, Mr. G. J. M. Gerrits,
who had worked for many years as a doctor in the Trobriand lslands.
The exhibition included several monumental elements, a facade and a
kula boat: 'The life-sized facade of a Trobriand lslands chief s home, among
other items, attracted general admiration' (Pott 1974:46) (fig. 12). Woodcarvings incorporating changes, such as a cruxific as part of a splashboard
(Jaginï) of a sea-going canoe, as well as commercial carvings were not
forgotten. The exhibition also made use of Mr. Gerrit's 'accompanying wideranging documentation and photographic and slides material'. Partly because of this, the exhibition revealed a 'good linkage between photographs,
slides and objects' (ibid.). The new illustrative material enabled the
69
Figure 12. The facade of a chiefs house
from the Trobriand Islands in the temporary
exhibition 'Argonauts of the South Seas',
Breda annexe of the National Museum of
Ethnology, 1972. (Pboto by Isadc C. Brussee)
presentation of an up-to-date picture of Trobriand Islands culture. Thus the
visitor was given a contemporary welcome through expressive photographs
of Trobriand Lslanders accompanied by a text in the local language together
with a Dutch translation: 'Yakidasi Kirüvina sena mivamwasila nanola
gigisa yokivamf: 'We of Kiriwina bid you Welcome!'. In the educational
programmc two films were aLso shown, one on the kula and the othcr on
the cultivation of yarns (Pott 1974:46).
The South Seas unveiled 1974-1975
In 1973 Kooijman, together with his wifeTo. carried out an eight-months
research project (mid-February to the end of August) on the island of Moce
in the Lau Group, Fiji (Kooijman 1977a). 'Because the making of barkcloth
is typically women's work. it was of particular importance that he was
accompanied by his wife during his research. She made a significant
contribution to the satisfactory results of the research' (Pott 1975:25-26). The
investigation concentrated on the 'manufacture. decoration and function of
ornamented barkcloth (tapa) withïn the community itself' (Pott ibid.:25).
The researcher took into account, in a remarkable manner, the potential
suitability of his findings for museological purposes, i.e., he always had the
creation of an exhibition in mind. In this way, he systematically built up a
collection with extensive documentation which, after his return to Leiden,
could be used clirectly for an exhibition. During his sojourn on Moce. he also
made a large number of documentary photographs and slides 'in which the
foreign fellow-human could be presented as an individual, rather than as a
70
type' (ibid.:6) and he also made the film TAPA, LIFE AND WORK ON A
SOUTH SEA ISLAND (Kooijman 1974a).
From 28 May 1974 until 12 January 1975, the exhibition 'The South Seas
unveiled' was held in Leiden. It utilised the collection of some two hundred
objects collected during Kooijman's field work on Moce, plus their documentation along with the slides, photographs and the film he had made
there. In this exhibition Kooijman did not restrict his interest to picturing,
in a realistic way, the society in question and the tapa complex in particular;
he also displayed photographs of cities and ports, with the headings 'The
capital city, Suva; offices; ocean-going ships; shops; vehicles'. Further, he
also brought out the link between 'The city and Moce'.
In tune with the principles expressed by Pott in 1963 (see above), 'Three
aspects of presentation [were] taken into consideration: the didactic, the
evocative, and the artistic' (Kooijman 1980:67). These three methods were
not used with absolute strictness in the exhibition; an evocative display
could also contain didactic or aesthetic elements, for example an evocative
arrangement showing a bridal couple, accompanied by a didactic component consisting of information about the traditional marriage ceremony in
Fiji (ibid.).
In 'A South-Sea Island in Leiden' (1980) Kooijman described the basic
principles, framework and implementation of the exhibition:
The main objective of the exhibition was not only to show the public
at large how tapa is made and decorated and to induce admiration,
but also to make it clear how the tapa complex is integrated into this
community. This meant that a number of aspects of the village
community had to be visualized. (ibid.:67)
Further:
The important place taken by the tapa complex in this presentation,
together with its specific aspects, is a direct result of the important role
that this complex plays in the culture of this particular South Sea
Island. (ibid.:69)
In addition to his clear manner of presenting the function of tapa and
other features of the cultural context (an important contribution being the
field photographs Kooijman had made of the process of manufacture) and
the relationship - already noted — to the capital city, Suva, Kooijman also
guaranteed the greatest possible interest and involvement on the part of the
public by incorporating several evocative elements. In Leiden at that time,
the evocative basis, i.e., the creation of an atmosphere that would draw the
visitor 'into' the display, was applied as far as possible to 'exhibitions
showing the life and activities of people from our own time but from other
parts of the world' (Pott 1976a:317). Here, the public was confronted with
the everyday aspects which counteracted the danger of exoticism (something that is always lurking about in any ethnological museum).
Thus, a house was built for the exhibition, with a galvanized iron roof
and washing hanging up 'outside' the house (fig. 13). The house interior
71
showed how western elemcnts went hand-in-hand with more or less
traditional elements: there were pieces of western fabrics in acldition to the
barkcloth clothing; a mosquiro net; photographs of (deceased) members of
the family; bottles; a table with crockery; whistlïng kettles; a bucket; a highpressure lamp; an umbrella, and so on (Kooijman 1980:62-63, figs. 15 and
16). Next to the house one saw the work space, where a woman (represented by a dummy) was beating tapa. The interior of the village trade store was
also reproduced (ibid.:64, fig.19). Another evocative element in the exhibition was provided by a display showing a marriage ceremony, the bridal
couple in traditional clothing of barkcloth along with the western goods
given as wedding presents laid out for display. These ineluded Johnson's
baby powder, packets of Omo detergent, matches and soap (ibid.:65, fig.
20). After the exhibition had closed, this display was incorporated into the
permanent display where it could be seen right up to the time that it had to
be dismantled for the renovation of the museum in 1986.
From what has been written above we can see that Kooijman did not
confine his attention to eollecting objects from the traditional culture aione.
He not only collected traditional items to which new elements had been
added (for example, a barkcloth with the name of a person on it). He was
also interested in assembling elemcnts of material culture that did not
originate in Fiji, or even in Oceania, objects that had acquired a new use in
the local culture of Moce. For instance. in the decoration of barkcloth,
stencils made from 'X-ray film from the Suva hospital' had been used, rather
Figure 13. Evocative display of a tin-roof'eci house and its environment in a village on Moce
Island, Lau Group, Fiji, in the temporary exhibition The South Seas unveÜed', National
Museum of Elhnology, Leiden, 1974. (Photo by Isadc C. Brussee)
72
than the tree-leaf used formerly (Kooiman's description for object no. RMV
4706-95a; Kooijman 1977a:43-45; 1980:64, figs. 17 and 18). He also collected
objects of western origin which had played a part in everyday life, for
example a 'hollow ball made of thick glass and covered in netting made of
thick rope, such as those used as fishing-net floats in modern European or
Japanese deep-sea fishing ... A hole was made in it so that it could be used
as a water container' (Kooijman's description accompanying objects nos.
RMV 4706-48 and 49; Kooijman 1980:55, fig. 4). An empty biscuit tin was
used for 'catching and storing water' (Kooijman description accompanying
object RMV 4706-50); an empty petrol can had served the same purpose
(RMV 4706-51) and a glass splinter from a beer bottle (RMV 4706-91) was
used for scraping roots, among other uses. Kooijman even collected modern
forms of children's games, for example a kite made from newspaper with a
frame of palm-leaf rib (RMV 4706-198) and arranged a particular section on
children's games in the exhibition. Several years later he published an article
on the subject: 'As the old ones sang ... children's life and games on a South
Sea island' 15 (Kooijman 1983).
Kooijman also collected western objects used in the Moce culture for the
original purpose for which they were intended. Examples of these include
underwater goggles (RMV 4706-46); aluminium and iron saucepans (RMV
4706-52 and 53 respectively); empty tins once containing mackerel (RMV
4706-201 and 4706-202). At the other end of the scale of possibilities in the
pairing of traditional and western elements of material culture, objects were
collected which were entirely made of local materials, but designed with a
western idea in mind. One splendid example of this is found in the clothes
pegs made from pieces of the peeled stem of the mast plant (RMV 4706-42AE): this same plant - Broussonetia papyrifera - was used for making
ornamented barkcloth. The functional use of the objects shown was not only
documented in writing, but was also often backed up by black-and-white
film and colour slides.
In the exhibition attention was also given to commercial tapa, as well as
to the original kind. As we see from one of the accompanying texts:
The Moce tapas are also extremely popular with white foreigners.
Consequently they are sent out in large quantities to be sold to the
tourists in the capital city, Suva, and also in New Zealand and
Australia. This brings in some money.
As reported by Pott, in a lecture given at the first International Symposium on the art of Oceania, held in Hamilton, Ontaria, Canada in 1974
(published later: Kooijman 1979) Kooijman raised the question of:
the extent to which the tourist demand for a relatively small and
modestly priced tapa results in the speeding up of production, thus
15
The main title refers to a proverb in Old Dutch: 'As the old ones sang, so the young ones
pipe' (Children are all chips off the old block), which was pictured by the famous seventeenthcentury Dutch painter Jan Steen, among others.
73
exerting a negative influence on the quality of the material and its
finish, reflected in the manufacture of tapas for use within the society
itself and intended for a special purpose. (Pott 1976a:305)
The exhibition devoted a good deal of attention to 'the tourist
attraction' of small pieces of tapa, which had resulted in an 'export
industry on a modest scale'. This constituted 'a good excuse for
addressing the questions of acculturation and the changing of the
social pattern which must inevitably result from this' (ibid.:317). The
visitor was involved in a direct manner, since 'modern products were
sold [on a modest scale] at the exhibition, as these [had come] onto
the market as the result of new cultural contacts, [and] great use was
made of this opportunity.' (Pott 1976b:286)
Where the educational accompaniment is concerned, Kooijman's film
TAPA, LIFE AND WORK ON A SOUTH SEA ISLAND (MOCE), filmed in 1973
on Moce and edited in 1974, constituted an essential element in conveying
the theme of the exhibition (Kooijman 1974a).16 The making of this film
shows, once again, the extent to which Kooijman succeeded in transferring
to a wider public the knowledge he had acquired in scholarly research.
Among other things, the film shows 'the complete process of the making and
decorating of barkcloth or tapa by Vosa Olinipa, one of the expert tapa
workers on the island'; it explores the role played by Moce Island as 'one
of the main producing centres of 'commercial tapa' which is offered for sale
in Suva, the capital of Fiji, as well as in New Zealand and Australia; and it
shows 'a ceremony called vakataraisulu which marks the end of a 100 days
period of mourning after the death of a chief' (Kooijman 1974b).
The Director of that time summed up the museological gains of
Kooijman's research:
[We can see] from both the choice of material for the collections and
the method of recording [material] in photography and film, how
important it is that the collector not only has a good knowledge of the
culture he is studying, but that he also has in mind a definite aim for
what he hopes to achieve by means of that material, and that he is
prepared, and able, to convey this aim to the people among whom he
his pursuing his fieldwork'. (Pott 1976a:317)
Seventy years of Asmat woodcarving 1976-1977
It is clear from several exhibitions that Kooijman was concerned with
continuity and change within a culture, and that he understood the
importance of registering present-day developments and presenting these
to a wider public. One good example of this was shown in the exhibition
'Seventy Years of Asmat Woodcarving' held in the Breda museum from 9
16
The film exists in a Dutch version, as wel): TAPA, LEVEN EN WERK OP EEN ZUIDZEE
EILAND.
74
December 19/6 to 28 August 1977. This exhibition was a joint production
together with Jac. Hoogerbrugge, the creator and manager of the Asmat Art
Project1 , who had recently gained a good deal of experience with Asmat
woodcarvers (see Hoogerbrugge 1993: Gerbrands 1979) 18
The museum's objects and photographs offered Kooijman an excellent
opportunity for presenting Asmat woodcarving in a diachronic way. One
could draw upon the collection of the earliest objects acquirecl. mainly in
the period of the first military exploration of 1907-1913 under A. J. Gooszen.
and the objects collected in the period following this7 including the valuable
'Kooijman shipment, Merauke, 1954' (see Lamme and Smidt 1993), and the
Gerbrands collection of 1961 (fig. 14). Then there was a large collection of
woodcarvings, created in the 19ó0s and 1970s, collected by Hoogerbrugge.
These items were made for distributing on a world-wide basis to collectors
and museums, for the benefit of the Asmat,
For the older objects we have an indication of the approximate places
and times these were acquirecl. Tn the case of the more recent
woodcarvings. one can adci the name of the individual woodcarver
and of his village. thanks to Gerbrands" research in 1960-1961 which
Figure 14. Part of the temporary exhibition 'Scventy years of Asmat woodcarving', Breda
annexe of the National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, 1977. From left to right. the sculplures standing in front of the wall range from one collected by AJ. Gooszen during the first
military exploration of southwest New Guinea (circa 1910) to a sculpture and ancestor pole
(bisj) collected by Adrian A. Gerbrands in 1961. (Photo by Isaac C. Brussee)
17
The Asmat Art Project was set up in association with the United Nations Department of
Small-Scale Industries and the United Nations Development Program (Hoogerbrugge
1993:149)iH
'The exhibition ... was created in collaboration with the Departemen Kerajinan Ra[k]yat in
jayapura (the former Hollandia), the Asmat Art Project - also in Jayapura - the Crosier Mission
in Agats, capital of the Asmat region, the Asmat Art Depot in Rotterdam and the Museum voor
Land- en Volkenkunde (Museum of Geography and Ethnology) in Rotterdam" (Pott 1978:294).
75
concentrated on the makers of the woodcarvings, and Hoogerbrugge's collection and clocumentation which followed upon Gerbrands' work.
Furthermore:
Fifteen Asmat woodcarvers in particular were identified by name, and
were represented by means of large-format photographs, (showing
them) with the objects they had created. In most cases these items
were also included in the exhibition. (Pott 1978:292)
The Asmat woodcarver's most essential tooi, the chisel (made by beating
out the head of a large iron nail), constituted a major element in the
exhibition, thereby involving the visitor in a very direct way in the
woodcarver's work: 'In order to emphasise the possibilities of this simple
tooi, the public was given the opportunity to make their own cuts with the
chisel' (ibid.).
The exhibition made a rough distinction among three phases: (1) 19041913; (2) 1954-1963; and (3) 1969-1974. Presentation of the third phase was
accompanied by the photographs and names of the woodcarvers involved.
In the description of phase three in the accompanying guide (Hoogerbrugge
and Kooijman 1976) one is struck by the positive way in which Kooijman
assesses the factors which had played a major role in keeping the art alive.
These factors included the Asmat Museum of Culture and Progress, created
by the Crosier Fathers' Mission, and the fact that the quality of the
woodcarving was quite as good as that of the previous phase. Further, recent
developments such as the replacement of practical considerations by
aesthetic ones, and the incorporation of new elements into the repertoire of
motifs, have their positive sides: '... this new art is a living art, translating
new impressions and ideas into creativity, and in doing so has contributed
to a broadening of traditional Asmat art' (ibid.:10).
This contrasts with the new category of barkcloth from Moce - the
commercial category of items made for sale - which Kooijman regarded as
of mediocre quality in comparison with the traditional cloths still being
produced at the same time for ceremonial use (Kooijman 1979:376).
Gerbrands' film MATJEMOS was frequently shown in the course of the
exhibition, a circumstance contributing to the success of the event (Pott
1979:334). The accompanying lavishly illustrated booklet, 'Asmat art'
(Hoogerbrugge and Kooijman 1976), aimed at being more than just an
exhibition guide. It was also intended as an art-history book for the Asmat
themselves, in which they could (for example) learn about the earliest
specimens of Asmat art side by side with recent forms: 'Several hundreds of
copies will be made available to the administration of that region, for
distribution among the inhabitants who are interested in this art' (Pott
1978:294). In order to make both texts and illustrations more accessible to
the Asmat, the texts were reproduced in Bahasa Indonesia, as well as in
English and Dutch.19
19
As a result of the Indonesian presence in the region, Bahasa Indonesia is spoken by most
Asmat people, and is read and written by an educated minority.
76
Fai-la! Sailing in the South Seas 1977-1979
In 1977 the exhibition 'Fai-la!Sailing in the South Seas' shown in Leiden
in 1972 was redesigned forpresentation in the museum of Breda. Compared
with the earlier display in Leiden, this later version (running from October
1977 to July 1979) offered 'a supplementary view of several aspects of the
subject' (Pott 1979:314).
This exhibition provided an overview of the types of boat used in the
South Seas region, and the way in which they are sailed. It also shows
the way in which these forms have influenced the production of new
types of ship, introduced after the second world war by a new
generation of professional yacht builders, or built by enthusiastic
sailors themselves. (ibid.:336)
Members of a Trimaran and Catamaran Club lent various boats or models
for this exhibition. One spectacular exhibit was provided by a sailing boat
with outrigger, acquired in that year and deriving from the atoll Puluwat, the
Caroline Islands, Micronesia. This vessel required 'a floor surface of fifty
square metres, but (it) also (needed) a height of six metres [i.e., to allow the
ship to be shown fully rigged] (Pott 1979:334).20 Just as in the earlier
presentation, Kooijman also tried on this occasion to reach a wider public
by means of an article on navigation in Oceania, this time published in
'Intermediair'21 (Kooijman 1977b).
External exhibitions
In addition to his involvement with exhibitions in Leiden and Breda,
Kooijman also worked on several exhibitions, large and small, in other
museums in the Netherlands, as well as one in New York. He also wrote the
accompanying guides or catalogues: 'The Art of Lake Sentani' in what was
then the Museum of Primitive Art in New York (Kooijman 1959a); 'Form and
Colour in the Sculpture of Africa and Oceania' in the Rijksmuseum KröllerMüller (Kooijman and Maesen 1960); 'Masks of New Guinea' at the
Municipal Museum, Het Prinsenhof, in Delft22 (Kooijman 1960); and 'Papuan
Art in the Rijksmuseum' in Amsterdam (Kooijman 1966).23
20
As we have already seen, this sailing boat was displaycel at a later stage in the museum hall
in Leiden. To my knowledge, there are only two examples of this type of sailing boat in any
museum collection. The other is in the National Museum of Ethnology in Osaka, Japan (own
observation, 1980).
21
This is a magazine for academies and others wilh higher education.
22
Exhibition eelebrating the anniversary of the Association of the Friends of the Delft
Ethnographic Museum, now the Museum Nusantara.
23
For a recent discussion of this exhibition, see Konijn (1993); for illustrations, see Konijn
(1993:22 and 30) and Smidt (1992: fig. 16).
77
Conclusions
As from 1 March 1980, Dr. S. Kooijman, deputy director of the museum,
ended his service on reaching retirement age (after) working for the
museum with great dedication and interest for more than 36 years. (Pott
1981b:266)24
Simon Kooijman's activities in connection with permanent displays and
temporary exhibitions can be summarised by outlining some of the basic
principles he followed.
1. Try to counteract romanticising and 'exoticising' tendencies by providing
an image of a present-day society which is as realistic and unadomed as
possible.
2. Do not display beautiful objects alone, but show especially the function
of these objects (including the function of completely western items or
those adapted from another culture) in the society to which the display
refers.
3. Use a synchronic starting principle (i.e., show how people in a society
live now) but combine it with a diachronic approach: show changes
taking place over time, with particular concern for continuity and change
in the material culture.
4. Make room in the permanent display for important new acquisitions,
whether obtained in the course of the curator's own research/collecting
trips, or by means of purchasing, or the donations of third parties.
5. Where possible, show the influence of Pacific cultures on our own
western culture (example: the catamaran).
6. Take into account new educational ideas and insights in order to capture
the attention of a western public.
7. Provide a picture of the people behind the objects as individual human
beings and try to create a relationship between these individuals from the
culture represented and the exhibition visitor (example: portraits of
Moce women tapa makers and Asmat woodcarvers).
8. Try to return something to the society providing the material for an
exhibition (example: the profits from sales of commercial tapas; the
distribution of the Asmat book among inhabitants of the Asmat region).
Ideas of this kind constitute a sound basis for exhibition policy, now and
in the future. Thus Kooijman's work is continued with great respect by his
successor. In this endeavour the viewpoints of the people of the Pacific
cultures themselves ought always be given a great deal of attention.
24
'While waiting for the appointment of his successor, he continued throughout the first year
of his retirement to 'lend a hand' in some of his former tasks as curator for the South Seas and
Australia department- Beginning 1 September 1980, drs. D. A. M. Smidt was appointed curator
of the South Seas and Australia department..'(Pott 1981b:266).
78
APPENDIX
Simon Kooijman's series of 22 typed room guides 1944-1945
Oceania, general
The Oceania region, its borders, geography and population
Polynesia
The Polynesians as seafarers
The Maori of New Zealand
Bird worship on Easter Island
The Kawa
The tapa or beaten barkcloth
Tattooing on Samoa
Micronesia
The stone money of Yap Island, in the Caroline Archipelago
Melanesia
The sirih
The signal gongs of Fiji
The secret societies of Melanesia
Melanesian wind instruments
The amfat of New Ireland
The drums of New Britain
(West) New Guinea
Sago and its preparation
Bamboo containers for throwing or blowing chalk
The significance of the dowry in the western part of Dutch South New
Guinea
Headhunting among the Marind-anim in Dutch South New Guinea
The Dema emblems of the Marind-anim (Dutch South New Guinea)
Australia
Australian boomerangs
Australian spear throwers
Australian message sticks
References cited
Gerbrands, A. A.
The art of Irian Jaya, a survey. In: Sidney M. Mead (ed.), Exploring the
1979
Visual art of Oceania, Australia, Melanesia, Micronesia, and Polynesia,
111-129. Honolulu.
Gids
1961
Gids voor het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde Leiden. Leiden. (Also pub-
79
lished in English: Guide to the National Museum ofEthnology, Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden. Leiden 1962)
Hoogerbmgge, Jac.
1993
Art today, woodcarving in transition. In: Dirk A. M. Smidt (ed.), Asmat art,
woodcarvings of Southwest New Guinea, 149-153. Singapore.
Hoogerbrugge, Jac, and Simon Kooijman
1976
70 jaar Asmat houtsnijkunst / 70 tahun seni pahal Asmat / 70 years of
Asmat woodcarving. Breda.
Kamma, Freerk C, and Simon Kooijman
1973
Romawa forja, child of'the fire, iron working and the role ofiron in West
New Guinea (West Irian). Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde 18. Leiden.
Koen, G.
1954
DORFLEBEN IM TONGA-ARCHIPEL - 2, HERSTELLING VON RINDENSTOFF, NACLIMITTAGSMAHLZEIT, KIRCHGANG. 16 mm film, black and
white, 14 min 30 s, No. C 658. Institut für den Wissenschaftlichen Film,
Göttingen.
Konijn, Fieke
1993
A universal langu age of art, tvvo exhibitions of non-Western art in Dutch
museums of modern art. In: Harrie Leyten and Bibi Damen (eds.), Art,
anthropology and the modes of representation, museums and contemporary non-Western art, 23-30. Amsterdam.
Kooijman, Simon
1956
Art of Southwestern New Guinea, a preliminary survey. Antiquity and
survival 1:343-372.
1959a The art of Lake Sentani, New York.
1959b Population research project among the Marind-anim and Jeei-nan peoples
in Netherlands New Guinea, summary of a report. Nieuw-Guinea Studiën
3:9-34.
1960
Maskers van Nieuw-Guinea. Delft.
1962a Ancestor figures from the MacCluer Gulf area of New Guinea, a variation
of the korwar style. In: The wonder of'man 's ingenuity. Mededelingen van
het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 15. Pp. 63-80. Leiden.
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Anthropology 2 (Scientific results of the Netherlands New Guinea Expedition 1959):15-44.
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Vereniging voor Tekenonderwijs 78:192-196.
1963
Ornamented bark-cloth inIndonesia. Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum
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De Stille Zuidzee, Polynesiërs en Micronesirs. In: P. van Ernst (ed.),
Panorama der Volken 1. Pp. 456-512. Roermond.
1966
Papoea-kunst in het Rijksmuseum / Papuan art in the Rijksmuseum.
Amsterdam.
1968
Ambryms sprekende spleettrommen, statussymbolen in een Melanesische
samenleving. Verre naasten naderbij 2(3):79-86.
1972a Tapa in Polynesia. B. P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 234. Honolulu.
1972b Fai-La!, zeilen op de Zuidzee. Leiden.
977b
979
980
983
384a
)84]b
?87
)94
Fai-La!, zeilen in de Zuidzee. Verre naasten naderbij 6(2):51-54.
TAPA, LIFE AND WORK ON A SOUTH SEA ISLAND (MOCE). 16 mm
colour film, optie sound, Dutch and English versions, 23 min. Stichting
Film en Wetenschap. Utrecht.
Tapa, life and work on a South Sea Island (Moce). (brochure)
Zuidzee uit de doeken. Leiden.
Zeilen op de Zuidzee. Intermediair 13 (12-25 March).
Traditional handicraft in a changing society, manufacture and function of
stenciled tapa on Moce Island. In: Sidney M. Mead (ed.), Exploring the
visual art of Oceania, 565-511. Honolulu.
A South Sea island in Leiden. In: W. R. van Gulik, H. S. van der Straaten,
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Art, art objects, and ritual in the Mimika culture. Mededelingen van het
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 24. Leiden.
Nieuw Guinea, kunst, kunstvormen en stijlgebieden. Leiden.
Jan Pouwer en de 'Leidse' Mimika collectie. In: Paul van der Grijp, Ton
Lemaire and Albert Trouwborst (eds.), Sporen in de antropologie (Liber
amicorum Jan Pouwer), 107-118. Nijmegen.
Museumherinneringen, onderweg met 'Volkenkunde'. (Unpublished
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Dijman, Simon, and H. H. Frese
)58
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Westelijk Nieuw-Guinea in het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde. NieuwGuinea Studiën 2:94-108.
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Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, verslag van de directeur over hel jaar
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1967
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1937
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83
4
THE KOOIJMAN COLLECTION
OF PHOTOGRAPHS AND SLIDES IN THE
NATIONAL MUSEUM OF ETHNOLOGY LEIDEN
THE MARIND-ANIM AND MOCE
Wim Rosema
The contributions of Simon Kooijman to the photographic collection of
the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde (RMV), (National Museum of Ethnology), are important because of the quality of his photography and his
accuracy in writing accompanying data. Before we look at his contributions
in more detail, we have to introducé the RMV photographic collection in
general.
With the exception of the first decades following the year in which the
RMV began to collect photographs (1867), there has been no active policy
in the museum of reserving funds for acquiring photographic material.
Nevertheless, the collection comprises many an interesting single example
or series. It includes photographs, negatives and slides, and consists of
subcollections which have their origin in the photographers' or collectors'
activities in administration, mission, exploration or research.
These subcollections arrived in the RMV Leiden mostly through a
relationship between the photographer/collector and the museum or a
curator. Sometimes the collector was a government institution and the
museum, being an institute of the same kind, was better equipped to act as
an archive for material of this kind. For some people who donated their
collection, the choice of the RMV might have been motivated by the fact that
for many years the museum had a permanent exhibition, with departments
of special interest and attraction such as the New Guinea and Oceania wing.
Unfortunately a weak point in the RMV collection is the lack of factual
and descriptive data about the photographic shots. Many photographers or
collectors provided only very rudimentary data. However, the more data
there is available, the more a photograph can be a source for information
or research. Of course a keeper of a collection wants to connect a certain
minimum of data with each subcollection, and if necessary with a single
shot, but gathering data is a time-consuming business. At the moment, only
one person in the RMV is employed for managing the collections of
photographs, films and sound recordings, so possibilities for filling in gaps
are limited.
84
Fortunately some subcollections are well described, for instance the
Marind-anim and Moce photographs made by Kooijman in 1953 and 1973
respectively. (The Marind-anim are a people in the south of New Guinea,
now Irian Jaya, and Moce is one of the Lau Islands of the Fiji Archipelago.)
Apart from the demand that the subject of this paper should remain within
the boundaries set by the editors, this is a good reason for restricting our
attention to the photographic collections on the Marind-anim and Moce. We
will consider not only the photographs Kooijman made, but also those made
before.
Besides the Kooijman photographs from 1973, the RMV collection from
Fiji contains some particular cartes-de-visite (photographs the size of a
visiting card), originating from the Godeffroy collection at Hamburg.
However they are so small in number (5 pieces) that these old registrations
will be left out of consideration.
THE MARIND-ANIM COLLECTION
The Tillema collection c. 1900-1920
Where the Marind-anim are concerned, there is (apart from the series of
photographs Kooijman made in 1953) a fairly comprehensive collection of
shots, made mainly during the first two decennia of this century. These
photographs were compiled by Captain A. J. Gooszen (Commander of the
Exploration Detachment of South New Guinea in 1907-1908); W. de Jong
(District Commissioner at Merauke); and notably, H. F. Tillema (a retired
pharmacist and publicist). Gooszen compiled 51, De Jong 25, and Tillema
300 photographs.
Dr. H. F. Tillema (1870-1952) made a fortune as a bottler of table water
in Semarang, on Java. He returned to the Netherlands in 1914, and then gave
himself the task of spreading all the data he could lay hand on about the
housing and living conditions of the different peoples of the Netherlands
Indies, among members of parliament, press and other important people.
The material he collected was published under the title 'Kromoblanda, over
het vraagstuk van 'het wonen' in Kromo's groote land' ('Kromoblanda,
concerning the question of 'Housing' in Kromo's great land'), a work
appearing in seven volumes over the period 1915-1923. These volumes
contained large numbers of pasted-in photomechanical prints. In order to
obtain the photographs he needed, Tillema wrote an appeal in the first
volume. From subsequent donations and acquisitions he compiled a
photographic collection about the Netherlands Indies comprising
approximately 5000 shots. Between 1924 and 1932 Tillema made three trips
to the Indies, during which he made about 4000 shots to add to his
collection. Tillema collected some 520 photographs of New Guinea; c. 275
of these were of the Marind-anim area. In 1924-1925 he himself made
another 180 shots in New Guinea, of which 24 were of the Marind-anim.
Thus the Marind-anim are well represented in the Tillema collection.
In 1942 the collection was brought over to the RMV. A report (3 pp.) on
this collection, extraordinarily extensive for that time, was made by Dr.
THE KOOIJMAN COLLECTION OF PHOTOGRAPHS
85
Simon Kooijman, who came to work in the museum in 1943 as a research
assistent. The collection was stored in a number of cupboards, and Kooijman
noted down with great accuracy which part of the collection was put away
in each drawer or shelf. He recommended making a card system of the
photographs and concluded his survey, dated 7 August 1946, with a request
not to change the arrangement of the collection and not to remove
photographs from it. Unfortunately, the cupboards were emptied later on
and the collection was put away in different places, where it has been stored
for a long period without protection against dust. It is said Dr. P. H. Pott,
who from 1947 was attached to the RMV (from 1955 to 1982 as Director) did
not have much appreciation for this collection, because some of the
photographs were retouched. (These photographs were probably used for
the production of photomechanical prints by simple techniques for which
only high-contrast photographs were suited, or photographs with retouched
contours and so on.) Perhaps Pott overlooked the fact, that there are clean
negatives from many photographs, and that retouches on photographs can
mostly be removed. At present the collection is stored safely.
Among the photographers of the Marind-anim in the Tillema collection,
the first to be mentioned should be Father H. Geurtjens. Other photographers are Fathers H. Nollen, P. Vertenten, N. Verhoeven, P. Drabbe and
Brother A. van Hest. These missionaries belonged to the Fathers of the
Sacred Heart. From their residence in the Moluccas in 1905 they founded a
mission station in Merauke on the south coast of New Guinea. Other stations
followed.
Another notable photographer to be represented in the Tillema collection is P. Najoan, who was a drawing master on Ambon, and later in
Makassar. From him Tillema bought a large number of photographs of the
Marind-anim region, and from other areas as well. Najoan was a gifted
photographer, who made beautiful portraits as well as landscapes. Among
the photographs collected by the above-mentioned Gooszen, there are also
shots by Najoan. Tillema also collected Marind-anim photographs taken by
Van Dijk, a former Captain of the K.P.M., and by missionary Croonenburg.
Changing attitudes to the Marind-anim, from amazement via
irritation to concern
It is interesting to speculate about the motives these first photographers
had, in making the shots the way they did, and what motivations the
collectors had in buying them. We will try to reconstruct their attitude to the
Marind-anim, and how this must have changed gradually.
If we look at the photographs, it strikes one that they are largely posed,
full-length portraits (fig. 15). It looks as if the Europeans were very
impressed by the outlook of the Kaja-Kajas, as they were called then. (The
Marind-anim received this name because they shouted these words by way
of greeting. The meaning is: 'friends' [Vertenten (1935:9)].) More than the
(black and white) photographs themselves can do, a written sketch by
Father Vertenten provides an impression of what the first photographers saw
through their lenses:
86
Figure 15. Marind-anim men. Near Kumbe village, Marind-anim arca. southern New
Guinea. RMV collection Tillema u-60. (Photoprobably by P. Najoan, c. 1905).
If a gaudily clad Kajakaja were sucldenly to appear in the market place
in one of our towns, he would not be recognised as a human being:
people would think he was the devil in person. The whole body
smeared from top to toe with lamp black. A wide, stiff body-belt,
painted brick red. pulled rightly around his waist. Flat bands of the
same coïour below the knees and around the wrists and ankles; on the
upper arm bracelets of ivory-hued pigs' tusks, or a bunch of pizzles.
oiled black. On the chest, necklaces of kangaroo or dog's teeth. and
bencath them a bundie of pigs' taïls, painted red; around the neck, a
fist-sized collection of dark beads. Forehead, temples and ears are
painted red. The rest of his face is glistening black (burnt kamiri oil).
White crocodile teeth or the tusks of a wild boar are stuck into the
pierced nostrils and nasal septum, or: short lengths of bamboo of
more than a thumb's thickness (I have seen some of 4 cm diameter).
... In the ears hang clusters of 10 to 20 earrings of black cassowary
quills. The pierced ear lobes sometimes hang down to the shoulders.
Above the forehead a wreath of outspread cassowary feathers. and
another of fine. golden-yellow plumes from the flanks of the bircl of
paradise. The hair is lengthened with plaited palm leaves - at least a
hunclred additions - each ending in a know a little below the shoulder
blades. Everything drips with rancid coconut oil. (translation from
Yertenten 1935:10-11)
So this was what thcy looked like. these notorious and cruel headhunters. formerly called Tugeri. whose bellicosity had forced the econo-
87
mical Dutch government to spend money on settling the Merauke administration post. The photographs of men with arrows in their drawn bows
were taken with ideas of this kind in mind. In the photographs, the wellproportioned men and women who are obviously dressed up with a great
deal of care, look neither defeated nor crushed. Most of them emanate a
certain self-consciousness, and some look into the camera with their heads
a little lifted.
It is clear that the Europeans were also fascinated by the exuberant
coiffures, and the women's extensive scar tattoos. These tattoos must have
evoked more or less erotic feelings at times. Tillema, a man who certainly
could not be called a frivolous gentleman, compares (in a caption) the scar
tattoos of a Papuan woman with the erotic dress of a European woman
(Tillema 1921:403). And the fire-eater Gooszen has to admit that he could
appreciate a well-developed, well-proportioned young woman wearing
them (Lamme 1987:63-64).
These are the aspects that generally received most of the photographers'
attention. Only the Fathers, who gained the confidence of the population,
were also able to record the different activities of normal daily life.
This attitude of mixed fear and amazement, and possibly also secret
admiration for their former prowess, gradually changed. When contacts
intensified, irritation arose because of their lack of interest in the Christian
religion, unwillingness to put on European clothes, and lack of motivation
to work for money. The Fathers could compare the Marind-anim with the
people in the Moluccas who were highly interested in religious matters.
Conversely, after their arrival in New Guinea in 1905, it was 1922 before the
first Marind-anim were baptized as Christians (Een kwarteeuw apostolaat
1927:38; Vertenten 1935:170). Gooszen complains that the natives near
Merauke, after having appeased their 'iron hunger', took no great pains to
sell food to the military, which they had been expected to do (Lamme
1987:21-22).
The history preceding Kooijman's mission to the Marind-anim began in
1919- After 1919 the attitude towards the Marind-anim changed into feelings
of pity and concern. An influenza epidemie took a heavy toll in that year,
and the population of many villages was seriously diminished. The situation
was all the more serious because a disease, diagnosed as venereal granulome, had since 1907 infected about a quarter of the population. At the same
time the number of children being born declined sharply. This nuraber was
already very small before the onset of the disease (Van Baal 1966:25-26).
To reach the compassion of the public, shots of well-fed, self-assured
people, standing sturdily looking into the lense, were not appropriate. In
publications the Fathers therefore used shots of people lying on the ground,
presumably in a poor condition.
The threat of extinction and Father Vertenten
Father Vertenten was the first person to reveal, in the press, the
threatened extinction of the Marind-anim. In 1919 he published a leading
article 'Zuid-Nieuw-Guinea sterft uit''(South New Guinea is dying out) in the
88
Java Post, a weekly distributed by the Jesuits. This article was reproduced
by many other magazines and newspapers, in the Netherlands as well. It was
H. F. Tillema in particular who called attention to this article.
According to a notice in the Algemeen Handelsblad of12 November 1920,
questions were put in the Houses of Parliament to the Minister of Colonies
by the Social Democrat Van Zadelhoff, about the way in which the KajaKajas were dying out. It was Tillema who had provided J. H. F. van Zadelhoff
with the necessary information he had received from Father Vertenten and
others. Minister De Graaff answered that the government would order the
Roman Catholic mission to try to rescue the Kaja-Kajas, and that a specialist
in venereal diseases would be sent out.
In 1921 Father Vertenten went to Java with Resident N. Lulofs, and had
a meeting with the Gouverneur-Generaal among others. This official gave
his support for a plan to build model kampongs, schools and boarding
schools as a remedy for the disease (Vertenten 1935:150-156).
In 1922 Dr. Thierfelder was sent to New Guinea; he rapidly got a grip on
the disease by installing isolation hospitals in a number of villages, and by
vaccinations. A few photographs probably made by order of Dr. Thierfelder
provide interesting pictures of these small hospitals and their patients.
Tillema also made shots of this kind in 1924. Meanwhile in that year the
disease was being well controlled (Rapport van het bevolkingsonderzoek
1958:186).
The model villages, the first of which were built by the mission in 1912,
consist of rows of family houses. These one-family houses replaced the
women's houses and men's houses where the fertility ceremonies, responsible for the spread of the venereal disease, had taken place. The boys'
houses were abolished as well. Henceforth, married couples and their
children were forced to live together in one home. This was a very radical
interference in the culture of this people, but it encouraged the production
of children.
During a round trip in 1924, Tillema also paid a visit to Father Vertenten
in Merauke. Father Vertenten was a gifted artist who has made many
portraits in colour of beautifully adorned Marind-anim. An album with
Tillema's personal documents contains one original crayon drawing by
Father Vertenten, with the inscription 'Saham-békai. Headhunter S. N.
Guiné. Merauke 19/3/24. The accompanying dedication says: 'Aan den Heer
H. F. Tillema uit dankbaarheid, voor de R.K. missie op Z N. Guiné, P.
Vertenten, Merauke, 7September 1924 (To Mr. H. F.Tillema in gratitude. P.
Vertenten, Merauke, for the South New Guinea Mission, 7 September 1924).
Coloured postcards have been printed from several portrait drawings by
Father Vertenten. Since the photographs are in black and white, these
drawings provide important additional information. There are a few of these
postcards in the RMV collection. Apparently some were also printed in black
and white, as can be seen from a couple in a Kooijman album. If one takes
a glance at the backs of these cards, one notes that they served as menu cards
for the 'Souper d'Adieu' of the S.P.C. (South Pacific Commission) project, in
the Merauke Mission on 27 April 1954.
89
The Kooijman coüection of 1953
In 1953-1954 Dr. Simon Kooijman, at that moment Curator of the
department of New Guinea and the South Seas in the Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde in Leiden, was engaged as an ethnologist on this Project of the
South Pacific Commission. The purpose of the project was to find the
medical and/or social causes of the decrease in population among the
Marind-anim (Rapport van het bevolkingsonderzoek 1958:4). Kooijman
occupied himself with family research and registration of the population. In
the period January - December 1953 he visited almost all the Marind-anim
villages. During this research Kooijman took about 1000 shots (30 blackand-white films).
Kooijman was one of the first curators in the RMV to make use of a 35
mm camera in the field. Although the camera, which he borrowed from the
Dutch research foundation ZWO, was not a very sophisticated one, and
anthropological research was not his direct mission, the results of his efforts
in 1953-1954 in the field of photography are quite remarkable. In 1994 he
donated his 1953-1954 albums to the museum (the negatives were already
part of the RMV collection). The albums give an impression of his method
of observation. It is probably not only his professional interest as a museum
anthropologist, but also his academie training as a social geographer that is
reflectecl in the extended range of subjects he registered. Apart from shots
of the environment and the effects of wind and sea upon it, the subjects
covered include sago production, fishing, hunting, gardening, boats, plait-
Figure 16. The repairing of a dip-net for fishing (kipa). Village of Kolam, Marind-anim area,
southern New Guinea. RMV collection Kooijman 1953-1954 22/10. (Photo by Simon
Kooijman, 20-11-1953).
90
Figure 1 '- Every aftemoon the women return with fire wood and drinking water. Village of
Wello, Marind-anim area, southern New Guinea. RMV collection Kooijman 1953-1954 23/
11. (Photo by Simon Kooijman, 23-11-1953).
ing, carving, shelter, ethnographica (figs. 16 and 17).
He maintained a certain clistance when he photographed people,
probably forced to clo so by his not very sophisticated camera. This makes
the setting always clearly observable. As his later photographic work, the
1953-1954 series shows, the photographer shows respect for the people and
does not use his camera as an insolently intruding instrument. The captions
Kooijman wrote show a form of mild humour and his capacity for seeing
things in perspective.
It ïs a pity that these photos could not receive wider distribution by a
printed publication of the report. Finally, the report was mimeographed
rather than being distributed in print, because one of the members of the
research committee wanted to enclose in the report a sharp criticism of the
colonial government. This was not acceptable to the other members (Van
Baal 1989: part 2. 215-216). However, some of these photographs have been
seen by hundreds of thousands of museum visitors. For about three
decennia they illustrated the well-arranged permanent exhibition on New
Guinea in the RMV. up to 1986.
Comparing the first photographs with those by Kooijman
Now what do we see if we place the first photographs next to those by
Kooijman? If we compare the images, at first glance it is harcl to believe they
91
are photos of the same people. A total transformation of the culture has
apparently taken place. It is not merely a question of traditional body
adornment being replaced by European dress. The postures and facial
expressions seem to have changed too. A closer look at the Kooijman shots
however reveals one group portrait with two boys looking at the camera
with their heads a little lifted. And this is a posture we are familiar with from
the first photos.
The changes must have been enormous though. The Marind-anim did not
become extinct (the population decrease stopped in 1948 [Van Baal
1966:26]), but their old culture did die out. If we follow the hypothesis of
Van Baal, the disappearance of the old culture was actually inevitable after
the headhunting raids had stopped. The supplying of young children was
part and parcel of these raids. This could compensate for the low birth rate.
This low birth rate would not have been caused by venereal or other
infectious diseases, but because Marind-anim men apparently slept less
often with women than did men in other cultures. Actually, it would seem
to have been a partly homosexual male culture (Van Baal 1966:950).
This might be a partial explanation for the fact that the collection of first
photographs makes a quite different impression on the spectator, compared
with the collection of 1953.
THE MOCE (FIJI) COLLECTION
Barkcloth data file, 1956-1970
A few years after his research among the Marind-anim, Kooijman began
in 1956 systematically to collect data about barkcloth, which would prove
to be a preparation for field research on Moce in 1973. Kooijman made trips
to museums in Europe, Oceania and America to collect data on, and
photographs of barkcloth from Oceania. He completed this inventory in
1970. Apart from his publication 'Tapa in Polynesia'(1972), the result was an
extensive data file of tapas and tapa beaters in 33 collections all over the
world, on about 2500 10x15 cm cards with 6x9 cm photographs attached.
The cards are arranged geographically, and within each island or region
there is an order according to museum. The file is stored in four drawers in
the photograph depository. A file of this kind will continue to be of great
value for every student or scientist who wants to do research on tapa.
Exploratory trip in 1971
In 1971 Kooijman made an exploratory trip to Oceania to select a suitable
region for further research. The journey resulted in a collection of slides
among other things; these were made with his Canon FT 35 mm camera
during visits to Samoa (from 20 Jan. to 27 Jan. 1971), Tonga (from 29 Jan.
to 13 Febr. 1971), and Fiji (from 14 Febr. to 20 Febr. 1971).
For his 1971 slide collection, Kooijman compiled a catalogue with
descriptions of the shots. The 1971 slides were each given a number
92
consisting of the film number and the number of the shot. The slides on
Samoa in the RMV are numbered 641-21 up to 641-104, and on Tonga, 641105 up to 641-336. The slides on Fiji received the museum numbers 616-2341
up to 616-2795.
The main subjects of the Samoa slides are the plaiting of a palmleaf
basket and the preparation of food (umu). The principal subjects of the
Tonga slides are bark beating, the preparation of dye from the bark of the
koka tree, and the market of Nuku'alofa. The subjects of the Fiji slides are
the manufacture and decoration of tapa on Kabara and on Moce, and the
sailing of an outrigger canoe from Kabara to Namuka.
During his 1971 trip Kooijman made about 700 black-and-white photographs (21 35 mm negative films). The photographs are pasted in three
albums and for each film (of 36 shots) Kooijman made descriptions for the
clusters of shots. The main subject is the manufacture and ornamentation of
tapa.
Fieldwork on Moce in 1973, and on Viti Levu in 1978
For his field research in 1973 Kooijman selected the island of Moce. Part
of his research activities consisted of filming and photographing. The slides
he made were each given a number consisting of the number of the shot
followed by the number of the film. (Precisely the opposite of 1971.) For his
1973 Moce slides collection Kooijman made an elaborate catalogue with
descriptions of the images of the 101 films he shot between 23 January and
22 September. The descriptions include the date of recording. Names of
photographed persons are also noted down. A subject index completes the
catalogue. Most of these slides are now part of the museum collection, and
have been given a separate museum number which is also noted down in
the catalogue. The slides on Fiji from 1973 are numbered 616-71 up to 6l62330.
Of course, masi (hark) is the main subject of this collection, but Kooijman
also registered many other aspects of Moce society on slides or photographs
during his stay on this island between 21 February and 29 August (plate 3
and fig. 21). To give an impression of the wealth of anthropological data in
the 1973 slide collection, we should mention the series Kooijman made:
the construction of a palm-leaf roof; the making of a tapa beater; the
preparation of dye from the bark of a root; details of a boat; fishing
techniques with spear, net, rubber gun; the repairing of a plaited sail;
cricket and handball matches between Moce and Komo (plate 4);
wooden troughs; the making of stencils from x-ray film and from
leaves; the making of coconut cord; the making of coconut oil; the
making of a toy outrigger canoe; the preparation of food in an earth
oven; the making of a leaf roof; the preparation of a cake; the
construction of a kitchen building; commemoration ceremonies
(fig. 18); the repainting of a tapa for a wedding; gift exchange for a
wedding; trip to the red-earth pit on Komo island; the bathing of a
baby in the sea on its first birthday; wedding celebrations of Jiolame
'IHE KOOIJMAN COLLECTION OF PHOTOGRAPHS
Platc 3. Galu, the speaker (matanivanua) of Ramasi, offers a sperm-whale tooth (tabua) to
die people of Korotolu village (Moce, Fiji), during a magiti feast on the occasion of the
death of Takaiwai. Takaiwai, who was the 'sister' of chief Ramasi of Moce island, ciied on
the island of" Moala. Korotolu had a special relationship with the deccased. RMV collection
616-925; Kooijman 1973 slide 36-40. (Photo by Simon Kooijman, 6-4-1973).
Plate 4. Dancers from the island of Komo (west of Moce) during the mekemeke dance
performance on the village place (rara) of Moce, on the occasion of the sports contest
between Komo and Moce (Fiji). RMV collection 61Ó-559; Kooijman 1973 slide 15-26. (Photo
by Simon Kooijman, 15-3-1973).
94
Figure 18. Women sit around the decorated grave of Apete Tavo (Pcte Levu) aftcr ihe
kilikili ceremony, which is part of the uakataraisulu ceremony, celebrated about three
tnonths after death. (Moce, Fiji). RMV collection 616-1100: Kooijman 1973 slidc 23-48.
(Photo by Simon Kooijman. 3-5-1973)-
Figure 19- Mama Laoeama wirh her son
Mosese working at a so-called 'Fijian' tapa
(gatu vakaviti), intended for exchange
with the people of Moala island, west of
Moce (Moce, Fiji). RMV collection
Kooijman 1973 18-20. (Photo by Simon
Kooijman, 27-4-1973).
95
Figure 20. Sticking on a new sirip on the gatu vakaviti for the vakataraisulu commemoration ceremony of Jilimai in the house of Emi Vakamalei in Korotolu (Moce, Fiji). RMV
collection Kooijman 1973 7-16. (Photo by Simon Kooijman, 1-3-1973).
Figure 21- Laying out the dead baby of Daine and Vutu at Korotolu (Mocc, Fiji). RMV
collection Kooijman 1973 21-9. (Photo by Simon Kooijman, 22-6-1973).
96
and Latu; yams competition; the smoking of masi; the planting of
yams; the making of coconut rope; fire making; the funeral of a child;
loading a boat with gifts for the Tui Lau in Suva; masi gardens; the
making of a wooden anvil; the plaiting of baskets; activities for the
civil marriage of Luisa Waji and Motu; tapas for a bazaar in Suva;
fishing with poison; a catch of turtles; design tablets for ornamentation by rubbing; preparations for the farewell party; the plaiting of a
mat; the making of a plaited sail; a Tongan dance.
Apart from his slides Kooijman also took some 800 black and white
photographs in 1973 (23 35 mm negative films), mainly of tapa manufacture
and plaiting techniques (figs. 19 and 20). Sometimes a series of photographs
continues as a series of slides, and vice versa. Kooijman has indicated where
slides and photographs supplement each other. The photographs are pasted
in, like the ones taken in 1971, with descriptions produced in the same way.
During a visit to Fiji in 1978 Kooijman added to his collection a series on
pottery making. He went to the village of Yavuloa near Sigatoka on the south
coast of Viti Levu, to make an extended report on 16 and 17 February on
three slide films of the traditional techniques of making a pot used by the
potter Mrs. Amele. The descriptions are included in the 1971 catalogue. The
slides have the Kooijman numbers 5-3 up to 7-27A, and received the
museum numbers 616-2801 to 616-2885.
Epilogue
To make his Fiji catalogues complete, Kooijman has recently indicated
which images have been reproduced in a number of publications between
1974 and 1990. Of course, only a small number of photos and slides have
been published up to the present. The complete Kooijman collection of
photographs and slides can be regarded as a valuable addition to his
publications. It will remain a great source for research, now and in the
future. The Moce collection for example can illustrate continuity and change
in this society.
In the past, the Moce collection proved to be a fruitful source upon which
to draw for editing educational slide programmes on a wide range of
subjects such as clothing, shelter, food, and so on. In this regard Kooijman
himself was always a helpful colleague offering useful suggestions. In the
future, the collection itself will continue to provide material for exhibitions
and programmes for museum visitors.
THE KOOIJMAN COLLECTIONOF PHOTOGRAPHS
97
References cited
Baal, J. van
1966
Dema, description and analysis of Marind-anim
Guinea). The Hague.
1989
Ontglipt verleden. Volumes 1 and 2. Franeker.
culture (South New
Geurtjens, m.s.c, H.
[1933]
Onder de Kaja-Kaja's van Zuid Nieuw Guinea. Roermond.
Klein, W. C. (ed.)
1953
Nieuw-Guinea, de ontwikkeling op economisch, sociaal en cultureel gebied, in Nederlands en Australisch Nieuw-Guinea. Volumes 1, 2 and 3.
's-Gravenhage.
Kolk, Jos. van de
1919
Bij de oermenschen van Nederlandsch Zuid-Nieuw-Guinea.
Sittard.
Kooijman, Simon
1977
1994
Museumherinneringen, onderweg met 'Volkenkunde'. (Manuscript)
Een kwarteeuw apostolaat
1928
Een kwarteeuw apostolaat, gedenkboek bij het zilveren jubileum van de
Missie in Nederlandsch-Nieuw-Guinea en de Molukken, 1903-1928.
Tilburg.
Lamme, Adriaan
1987
Van pioniers en koppensnellers, de militaire exploratie van de Zuidkust
van Nieuw-Guinea, 1907/1908. (Typescript)
Rapport van het bevolkingsonderzoek
[1958]
Rapport van het bevolkingsonderzoek onder de Marind-anim van Nederlands Zuid Nieuw-Guinea. South Pacific Commission, Population Studies,
S 18 Project. (Mimeographed)
Tillema, H. F.
1915-1922 Kromoblanda, over't vraagstuk van 'het Wonen'in Kromo's grooteland.
Volumes 1-5. 's-Gravenhage.
1923
Kromoblanda, tropische handelswaren en tropische ellende. Volume 6.
Den Haag.
1926
Zonder tropen geen Europa.
Van Baal see: Baal, J. van
Van de Kolk see: Kolk, Jos van de
Vertenten, m.s.c, P.
[19351 Vijftien jaar bij de koppensnellers
Guinea. [Leuven.]
van Nederlandsch
Zuid-Nieuw-
BARKCLOTH STUDIES
101
5
POETICS AND POLITICS
OF TONGAN BARKCLOTH
Simon Kooijman in his landmark book Tapa in Polynesia (1972) compiled and interpreted an extraordinary amount of historical and contemporary information on the subject of barkcloth. In a systematic manner he
presented his findings on the sources of the bark, the manufacturing
process, the decoration, and the finished product for fourteen areas; his
book remains the basic reference work for all studies of barkcloth throughout Polynesia. In his examination of barkcloth pieces in museums in Europe,
the United States of America, and the Pacific, he discovered and drew
attention to the similarity of design elements on barkcloth pieces from
Polynesia and Indonesia. Indeed, Kooijman's thorough research has made
it possible for all subsequent researchers to focus on the more social aspects
of barkcloth and its meanings.
Working in Tonga in the 1960s, I was unaware of Kooijman's research,
but as a sociocultural anthropologist I was drawn to the study of barkcloth
for a different reason: the ubiquitousness of barkcloth at all important
events.1 As a participant observer (who slept each night under a barkcloth
blanket) I took part in beating the bark into small pieces of cloth, and
participated in the women's work groups that fabricated them into large
decorated pieces. I explored the names and meanings of the designs and the
uses of large and small barkcloth pieces in state funerals and investitures,
as well as for important events in the lives of non-chiefly families. However,
I was dissatisfied with the results of my investigations, for although I
understood how barkcloth was made and used, its underlying importance
eluded me. Then, in the late 1960s and 1970s I worked with Cook-voyage
(and other) collections in museums in Europe, and discovered how
1
Research in Tonga was carried out for nearly three years between 1964 and 1994, funded
by the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological research, the National Institute of Mental
Health, the Bishop Museum, and the Smithsonian Institution, to whom I wish to express my
warmest appreciation. I am indebted to the Government of Tonga under their Majesties the late
Queen Salote Tupou III, the present King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV, and the many Tongans who
helped me to understand the data presented in this paper. T would also like to thank Elizabeth
Wood-Ellem for helpful comments on a draft of this paper.
102
drastically the designs on Tongan barkcloth had changed. Eighteenthcentury barkcloth designs were entirely geometrie, while in the midtwentieth century remnants of these geometrie designs were primarily
decorations of more representational designs, and the layout of the designs
on large pieces seemed to be quite different. Continued discussions with my
Tongan mentors and friends continued to reveal that understanding barkcloth was not a question of manufacture and use. Rather, understanding
barkcloth in Tonga was predicated on understanding the poetics and politics
of their verbal and visual modes of expression: in short, their philosophy of
aesthetics. In this paper I shall examine some events, pieces of barkcloth,
design concepts, and poetry to explore an aesthetic construction of society
based on a conjunction of place, genealogy, and event.
Tongan art and aesthetics
Many pages have been filled with debates over the use of the word
'aesthetics' in Western and non-Western art, so before I focus on Tongan
material, it is appropriate to explain how I will use the concept of aesthetics
in this essay. Deriving from the Greek word aisthetikos which deals with
'sense perception,' the term aesthetics is now used in a variety of ways;
depending on the context, 'aesthetic' can refer to a response, a principle or
set of principles, or a philosophical system. When brought into use in
English and other European languages in the 19th century, 'aesthetic'
focussed on the response to art concerned primarily with beauty. Although
still used in this way in the West, anthropologists which have broadened the
scope of aesthetics to include sets of principles that various societies subject
to evaluation, and they have suggested alternate conceptual frameworks.
The inappropriateness of applying Western concepts to non-Western
cultural forms has been recognized by anthropologists for some time. Sidney
Mead noted, for example, that 'applying the definition of Western art and
aesthetics to Melanesia will produce predictable results: it will be found that
the Melanesians have no art and no aesthetics' (1979:4). My thoughts on this
subject go back to my fieldwork in Tonga in the 1960s, and the following
paragraph is based on a 1971 article on Tongan dance (Kaeppler 1971:175176).
Ways of thinking about cultural forms, including the standards by which
they are judged, are largely determined by the cultural traditions of which
they are part. Each society has standards for the production and performance of cultural forms. These standards, whether they are overt and
articulated, or merely covert, can be said to constitute an aesthetic for that
society. These standards or canons of taste arise out of cultural values and
often intensify the values which serve as guides in everyday life. If we are
to understand (rather than just appreciate) an aesthetic, or a society's
cultural forms, it is essential to grasp the principles upon which such an
aesthetic is based, as perceived by the people of the society which holds
them. This underlying organization is equally important for understanding
POETICS AND POLITICS OF TONGAN BARKCLOTH
103
human action as an analysis of the content of the item itself. Only after the
principles of organization have been deduced, and design symbolism
understood, can we decide if a specific item either conforms to, or fails to
meet the standards recognized by that society.
In short, I approach aesthetics as socially constructed ways of thinking
which focus on evaluation, and I believe that understanding an aesthetic
system depends on understanding an entire way of life and the systematic
relationships among cultural forms and the social actions in which they are
embedded. Barkcloth and other cultural artifacts and performances exist in
dialectical relationships with the social order, but can only communicate
with those who have 'communicative competence.' The relationships
among cultural artifacts, performances, and the social order are constantly
modeling, modifying, and shaping each other over time.
Although art was not a category of traditional Tongan thought, two
Tongan concepts, faiva (skill) and heliaki (indirectness), contribute to an
understanding of Tongan evaluative ways of thinking. Faiva refers to any
work, task, feat, trade, craft, or performance requiring skill or ability; heliaki
means to say one thing but mean another and requires skill based on cultural
knowledge to carry out. Heliaki is manifested in metaphor and layers of
meaning, and is developed by skirting a subject and approaching it
repeatedly from different points of view. Hidden meanings must be
unravelled layer by layer until they can be understood. Thus objects,
performances, and other cultural forms have meanings which cannot be
apprehended by simply examining them. Visual arts can be understood by
analyzing them in relation to poetry and oratory which incorporate social
philosophy and form the structure of the aesthetic system. The visual arts
objectify social and cultural metaphors incorporated through heliaki and
faiva into the oral arts. Visual artists use their faiva to create objects that are
works of art and express the heliaki of the poets. Visual arts are integrally
related to verbal arts, and both are used in the service of elevating and
honouring the prestige or power of individuals or chiefly lines.
The important cultural forms of Tonga were: poetry with its attendant
music and dance; scent; barkcloth; mats; baskets; ornaments; sculpture; and
weapons. Barkcloth and mats were categorized as koloa (valuables) and
were made by women. Other objects were considered as crafts made by
lufunga, male craftsmen who built houses and canoes, and decorative
objects, teuteu (such as scented coconut oil, ornaments, and baskets) made
by men or women. Koloa is the complementary domain to ngaue, products
derived from agricultural work and animal husbandry (and is not a
complementary or contrasting domain to crafts made by tufunga). Koloa,
made by women, are, like women, prestigious. In contrast, the ngaue of
men, are considered 'work,' and like men, are powerful. The ngaue oï men
regenerates people physically, while the koloa of women regenerates
people culturally. Both are necessary, and together they regenerate and
reproduce society. The fabrication of koloa is not a craft, but a fine art which
creates valuables, an important distinction in Tongan cultural domains.
104
Tongan barkcloth
The most important two-dimensional visual art - historically as well as
today - is decorated barkcloth. Tongan barkcloth can be distinguished from
other Polynesian barkcloth by its large size and metaphorical designs. It was
traditionally used for clothing, bed coverings, interior decoration, and ritual
presentation, especially weddings and funerals. Large finished pieces,
sometimes as large as five metres by fifty metres, are categorized by colour
and design organization as ngatu2, ngatu 'uli (black ngatu), and fuatanga}
In ngatu designs are organized to run across between crosswise measuring
lines (called langangd) which intersect with a set of long lines running the
entire length of the piece. In fuatanga the designs are organized to run
across the length of the piece, and a series of intersecting vertical lines are
used to measure its size (see Kooijman 1972:316, 317 for drawings). The
straightness of the lines is the first criterion for an evaluation of the finished
piece. Fuatanga are more difficult to make and were intended primarily for
use by chiefs. Ngatu 'uli are chiefly ngatu deriving their high status from the
difficulty of making the black dye.
Tongan barkcloth is made in the usual West Polynesian manner, from the
inner bark of the paper mulberry plant (Broussonetia papyrifera), called
hiapo in Tongan. Pieces of inner bark4 are beaten separately and eventually
pasted together with a paste made from a plant such as arrowroot. The small
pieces are pasted together and decorated by rubbing dye onto the white
cloth, which is laid over a series of stencils attached to a large curved
printing board (papa). This stage (called koka'angd) involves a group of
women who work together pasting, rubbing dye over the stencils, moving
the cloth, and repeating these steps until they have a huge piece.5 After
drying, the final stage is done by hand, and consists of highlighting the main
parts of the design that have been printed from the stencil, with dark brown
or black dye, using a pandanus-key brush. This final step is done by a
woman alone or with the help of a few female friends or relatives.
Depending on the skill (or patience) of the person(s) who carry out this last
stage (tohi ngatu), the finished product may be precise and beautiful or it
may be slipshod - the second evaluative criterion for a finished piece.
The overall design encodes a conceptual framework made up of three
elements: (1) straight lines which define the space and layout for (2) the
named motif which is the essential feature of the whole, and (3) the
decoration or elaboration of the named motif. The long lines define the
2
The term ngatu is sometimes elaborated as ngatu tahina, white ngatu, to distinguish it from
ngatu 'uli. Ngatu/ngatu tahina is primarily brown in color. When the design is set in a white
background, it is called tapa 'ingatu.
3
Fuatanga can also be separated into fuatanga tahina -and fuatanga 'uli.
4
Circa 60 cm x 40 cm to 50 cm.
5
Called launima; long: 50 langanga (each 60 cm) = 30 m; wide: 4 m to 5 m.
105
space for the layout of the stencil set and are context-sensitive depending
on who will use the barkcloth and for what occasion. It is the space-defining
lines that separate the two kinds of barkcloth (ngatu or fuatangd) rather
than the design motifs themselves.
The essential feature of the design is a series of stencils that form a set
which, through heliaki, has metaphorical meaning. Often one stencil gives
a name to the whole design. Some of the stencils are considered to be a
decoration of the named motif, and may encode older designs conveying the
same or similar heliaki. The third evaluative criterion is how skilfully the
finished piece encodes an overall heliaki, as well as how the individual
stencils contribute to it.
Hala Paini, road of pines - a metaphor for the monarchy
One of the most popular stencil sets during the past few decades is
known as 'Hala Paini,' way (or road) of pine trees (fig. 22). The kupesi,
design stencil, which usually has the name printed as part of the design,
refers to the pine trees that line the palace and the adjoining mala 'e (village
green) on the ocean side, and along the street called Hala Tu'i (way or road
of the monarch) that extends from the palace to the royal tombs. The trees
are embellished with a sun, a moon, and a star - celestial phenomena
symbolizing the monarch. Hala paini stencil sets (of which there are many
examples with slight variations) includes several individual hala paini
stencils. In the usual layout (required to complete two langanga laid out on
the papa) there are four hala paini stencils, two on each side, thus enclosing
the whole design just as the pine trees symbolically encapsulate the
monarchy concentrated in the palace complex.
Inside the hala paini stencils, the monarchy is represented by three
stencils (each repeated four times on two langanga) - the Tongan coat of
arras (called silaox seal); a lion, adapted from European representations for
a monarch and here symbolizing King Tupou I, the originator of the present
Tupou Dynasty (the present monarch is Tupou IV); and an eagle, another
Euro/American representation of the State. Sila, the Tongan coat of arms,
although a European concept, encodes basic information about the State in
symbolic form.
An explanation of the coat of arms as a metaphor for the monarchy and
its history can be found in a lakalaka, a sung speech with choreographed
movements. 'Sila' lakalaka was composed and performed for the celebration of the centenary of Tupou I in 1945 and performed again at the
coronation of Tupou IV in 1967 by the villages of Ha'ateiho and Tungua.
106
Figure 22. Hala Paini Ngatu. National Museum of New Zealand, Wellington, collected in
1992. (Photo by National Museum of New ZealandJ
' The composer. Koloa of the Island of Tungua, gave me the poetry, explained the meanings
thai it held for him. and with his help. I made the English translation.
'Uluaki he kuonga
Heleta felavai
Pea fakama'u ha'i
Pea tolu e Sita
Tauhoa e fuka
Kapa ai e Lupe
Mo e lou 'olive
Ke fakamo'oni
'O 'asi ai e kolosi
Pea kei ola pe
Hono lou ifi e
He kuo fakafotu
'A e lea vahe tolu
'Otua 'I he Sila
Mo Tonga ko hoku tofi'a.
107
Was originated by Tupou I
It has three crossed swords
That are tied together7
There are three stars8
And two flags
A flying dove9
With an olive branch
And, it is true
The cross appears
And the King still lives
His ifi leaves10
Come into view
And written in three parts
God - it says in the seal And Tonga are my inheritance.
In 1967 the performers began in prescribed lakalaka form: long lines
facing the audience, men on the right, women on the left (from an observer's
point of view); the men and women performed different sets of movements
alluding to the poetry in two different ways (the usual choreography for a
lakalaka). At the beginning of the third stanza, four columns were formed
and the performers moved to 'draw' the coat of arms on the dance ground
(as noted in the text line 'Ko e mape 'eni teu ta"); each dancer's clothing was
the color of the part of the coat of arms to which he or she would move. The
fourth stanza was performed with dancers seated on the ground so that the
coat of arms could be seen while the men and women performed the same
arm movements. During the final stanza the performers lay on the ground
touching each other to form the coat of arms in living color and waved tiny
Tongan flags which had been previously been stuck in their belts. During
the whole performance, singers who stood at the back of the performance
space held up a large banner depicting the coat of arms and a central dancer
holding a banner depicting a cross knelt at the centre (that is, where the
cross appears in the coat of arms). The venue of the performance was the
King's ma/a'e(village green) with the road of pine trees in the background.
In short, the performance was a verbal and visual counterpart of the hala
paini stenciled ngatu.
Representing the lines of the Tu'i Tonga, Tu'i Ha'a Takalaua, and Tu'i Kanokupolu, now
united in Tupou IV.
8
Representing the three islands group. Tongarapu, Ha'a-pai, and Vava'u.
9
The dove, olive branch, and the cross in this set of lines refers to the Christian church, as
do the last two lines of the stanza.
10
Ifi is the Tahitian chestnut (Jnocarpus edulis), fout the word ifi has the additional meaning
of the supernatural ability of some individuals to blow into a person's eyes and cure them of
disease. Thus, encircling the crown as they do in the seal, they metaphorically give supernatural
qualities to the Tupou dynasty.
108
The Sila lakalaka was thought to be one of the best and most appropriate
presented during the two long afternoons of lakalaka performed for the
coronation celebrations, just as the hala paini/sila stenciled ngatu is
thought to be one of the most appropriate for overall visual representation
of Tonga. Sila lakalaka and hala paini ngatu encode the social metaphor
of celebrating the monarchy. Occasions on which they are performed and
presented become part of them and they become chronicles of history
objectified in verbal and visual form. These aesthetic constructions influence conceptions about social order that help to create the shared values of
the society. Ngatu design and use celebrates and objectifies social relationships in much the same way that the poetry of a lakalaka performance does
verbally. Neither ngatu nor lakalaka text teil a connected history, but rather
serve as frames for painting compositions about the social politics of
prestige and power. They present fragments of the past and present and the
knowledgeable spectator must make the connections. Together they form
the intricate association between verbal and visual modes of expression so
admired in Tonga.
Electrifying the palace
An event that altered, and thereby gave additional meaning to the hala
paini design is recorded by a variation of at least one set of hala paini
stencils - the introduction of electricity. In this altered set, the hala paini
that runs along one side of the ngatu has the addition of electricity poles,
wires, and lamps (fig. 23). This is, in fact, an accurate depiction of Hala Tu'i
today, with electricity poles interspersed with the pine trees, and alas, the
loss of some of the pine trees, destroyed by hurricanes. Through heliaki,
electricity adds yet another kind of light to the sun, moon, and stars of the
monarchy, for it was they who were responsible for bringing this Western
light to be added to their genealogical light.
Chiefly symbols in squares, rectangles, and triangles
Hala paini and the other stencils which make up this set are modern
visual symbols of the chiefs, and especially the chiefs of the Tupou dynasty.
Other modern representational designs symbolizing chiefs include necklaces, kahoa, flowered girdles, sisi, and depictions of the sun, moon, stars
and other celestial phenomena. Such representations are usually incorporated into design layouts which include chiefly symbols of the past, such as
manulua, fakatoukatea, and fata.
Manulua is a design formed from a combination of three or four triangles
meeting at their points - formed from a square divided by crosswise and
perpendicular lines to form triangles that are alternately colored in (plate 5),
resulting in a design widely used in Tonga and throughout Polynesia (and
elsewhere). The word manulua in Tongan means two birds {manu = bird,
lua = two) and as a design is an allusion to two birds flying together. It is
POETICS AND POLITICS OF TONGAN BAKKCLOTH
109
Figure 23- Hala Paini with electric lights. Naiïonal Museum of New Zealand, collected in
"1992 (Photo by National Museum of New Zealand)
the heliaki or social raetaphor that symbolizes chiefly status derived from
intermixing chiefly descent from both parental lines. The design can be
varied by having one triangle on top and two below, but it is still called
manulua. In Tongan poetry, references to birds are frequent and usually
allude to ranking male chiefs. but in their more generalized form as
manulua on barkcloth, they may be simply chiefly designs. A design derived
from the same grid of triangles joined at thcir apexes is called fakatoukatea,
which is an allusion to a doublé canoe with both sides equal and is a
metaphor for equal chiefly rank of both parents. Fakatoukatea design today
usually has the bases of the triangles elongated, but this same design is also
hidden in a series of manulua. dependïng on how the elements are visually
isolated.
A related design, deriving from a series of concentric squares with
crossing lines. is known as fata. This design is an allusion to the complicated
roof structure of a chiefs house, and is also the visual heliaki for chiefly
status. Today, a large barkcloth with one or more of these motifs as the
essential feature would probably be a ngatu 'uli, and would be used to
honour specific chiefs or, more likely, the socially stratified government in
general, for use in an important national event. When used as the essential
feature on a ceremonial barkcloth. they encode the importance of history
1 10
Plate 5 \gatu with manulua design, used during coronation ceremonies of Tupou IV,
196". with Mele Sitani. a barkcloth specialist of the 1960s. (Photo by A. Kaeppler)
and genealogy at the chiefly level of society. For Tongan society in general.
however. the aesthetic preference is toward representational designs that
have transformed design concepts imported from the West into Tongan
ones. just as social concepts imported from the We.st have been transformed
into Tongan concepts. Although the incorporation of representational
designs involves borrowing. it is the incorporating design system which
shapes the product into its final form. It is therefore necessary to study all
aspects «f the system. including traditional and contemporary components.
if one is to uncierstand fully the artistic processes and their resulting
products. The introductïon of representational designs into Tongan barkcloth made possible an artistic efflorescence that might not have occurred
without them. Exploring the relationships between artistic and societai
change helps us to a better comprehension of the nature of both art and
society. Contemporary stencil sets. like contemporary social life. reveal the
social and aesthetic transformations that have led to the representational
embedding of the conjunctions of place, genealogy. and event.
The investiture of 'Ulukalala
One such event was the investiture of King Tupou IV's youngest son to
the title of 'Ulukalala on 16 September 1991. It was one of those rare
moments in history when. in the late twentieth century. it was possible to
experience a Polynesian ritual that transformed traditional and modern
elements into each other. As an event. the ritual encoded two important
concepts: a genealogically appropriate individual to fill the \ acant 'Ulukalala
title. and a ritual investiture as part of a sacred age-olcl kava ceremony \\ ith
POETICS AND POLITICS OF TOXGAN BARKCLOTH
i: i
its accoutrements. old and new.13 What will concern us here are the products
of the women's work and its pre.sentation m the context of a tau'a'alo
("work song"). The koloa for this event included an 'afio'anga. a seat for the
King during the kava ritual. preparecl and presented by Ulukalala's wife,
Xanasipairu12. and an 'aftovala, a prestation of women's wealth to complement the mens wealth of foocl that would be presented during the
investiture ceremony. The afiovala was presented as a gift to the court on
12 September through the person of Queen Mata'aho. Tt was so heavy that
it had to be brought by truck. The presentation consisted of a decorated fihu
mat, a black ceremonial basket {katoalü) wïth bottles of scented coconut oil.
and the hiage rolled 'afiovala made up of ngatu lau teau ancl a katuafe (a
large ceremonial mat). Ngatu lau teau refers to barkcloth of an enormous
number of langanga, usually between 500 and 1000. This ngatu lau teau
consisted of 500 langanga - 100 langanga of ceremonial black barkcloth.
ngatu 'uli, and 400 langanga of ngatu. The ngatu 'uli was a lautefuhi (100
langanga) from 'Ulukalala's mother-in-law. Tuputupu. and the women of
the villagc of Houma. The design was a new kupesi set called "Sisi fetuii o
Latüfuipeka" (Latüfuipeka's waist-garment of stars) in honour of TJlukalala's
daughter. who would carry the King's kava for the ritual investiture. This
ngatu 'uli is primarily black, the crossing langanga lines are barely
distinguishable. and two designs run the entire length (plate 6). Along both
sides of the length are a series of stacked stars with four and eight points
Plate 6. Ngatu uli wirh design Sisi fetu*u o Latüfuipeka. 1991. (Photo byA. Kaeppler)
1
For an anal\M-s of the event. see Kaeppler. al press a.
- This consisted of two large pïeces of ceremonial barkcloth (fuatanga uli and fuatanga
tahina) and a fata paongo. mat of paongo pandanus leaves.
112
with (half) suns at the outer edge - six of these strips compose each waist
garment of stars separated from the next group by a strip of leaves. Running
down the centre of the whole ngatu 'uli is a strip of manulua fmmed on both
sides with the name of the kupesi printed in Tongan. The heliaki of the
stencil set alludes to Latüfuipeka's descent from Queen Salote (who was
often symbolized by celestial phenomena and referred to as La'a, sun) and
her elevated rank on both sides, like two birds flying together. The design
is appropriate for Latüfuipeka who descends on both sides from Tupou II a high ranking child indeed (see diagram for genealogy).
Lavinia = Tupou II (20th Tu'i Kanokupolu) = Tupoumoheofo
Salote Tupou III
Vilai
Taufa'ahau Tupou IV
Vaea
'Ulukalala
=
Nanasipau'u
Latüfuipeka
Diagram 1. Doublé descent of Latüfuipeka from Tupou II.
Also included in the ngatu lau teau were four hundred langanga of
ngatu made by a special process called hemabema specific to the women
of Tu'anuku. The design consists of three hea dots from which radiate four
sets of two short parallel lines. This overall design is augmented at irregular
intervals by hemahema, a long triangular ila ("blemish") which is accomplished by lifting the ngatu from the papa during the koka 'anga process to
leave an uncolored triangular area. This is extremely difficult to do and is
an iclentity marker for the ngatu of Tu'anuku. The koloa represented an
enormous amount of women's work, and they were justifiably proud of their
beautiful presentation, which was made, with emotion, by Tuputupu herself
and was accepted by the matapule (protocol specialists) on behalf of Queen
Mata'aho. The men of the village of Tu'anuku were justly proud of the
women's work that would complement their own presentation of foodstuffs
for the investiture, in conjunction with a tau 'a 'aio. Although originally used
for synchronizing rowing movements, tau 'a 'aio are used today primarily for
dragging a large pig or kava plant to an important kava ceremony. The
poetry was composed for this event and focussed on the women's koloa.
Tau'a'alo 'o 'Ulukalala13
I
Ha'a Ngata e tu'u keta ö
O fuataki atu e katumanö
Kuo toe ha kuo toe ha
Fetu'u ne puli he sotiaka.
Ha'a Ngata stand up and we go
Carry onwards the katumanö
(countless handspans of mat)
It appears again, it appears again
(new 'Ulukalala)
Star that disappeared from the Zodiac
(last 'Ulukalala).
13
The composer Sunia Tuineau Pupunu dietated the poetry to me, explained the meanings it
held for him, and with his help, I made the English translation.
II
Koe kie ena 'o 'Utukaunga
Moe katuafe 'o Makapapa
Mo e lauteau 'o Toloa
Ko e 'uma'a ke taka.
113
That is the kie of 'Utukaunga14
And the katuafe (200 handspans of mat)
of Makapapa
And the lauteau (enormous barkcloth) of
Toloa
The reason or purpose is needless to say.
The poetry, repeated over and over, speaks of the koloa presented by the
four descent lines of 'Ulukalala's village Tu'anuku, and makes metaphorical
references to the previous 'Ulukalala as the star that disappeared from the
Zodiac and the new 'Ulukalala as the star that appears again.
While singing about the koloa, the men and women of Tu'anuku dragged
a huge pig and a huge kava root on sledges through the kava formation as
a token of the men's ngaue that had already been laid out on the mala'e.
This consisted of 2100 baskets of cooked staple foods, 550 cooked pigs, and
23 kava roots. Thus, the presentation combined the four descent lines of
Tu'anuku, men and women, metaphor and straightforward speech into an
aesthetic form uniquely Tongan.
The products and their presentation will be remembered, and the
memory passed on in the oral tradition, thereby assisting in the acceptance
of the new 'Ulukalala as the appropriate person for this important title (as
it was not uncontested). It usually takes a year or more for the new title
holder and the villages associated with the title to accumulate the ngaue and
koloa necessary for the ritual presentations, as well as to compose and teach
a tau'a'alo (and other verbal expressions) for the event.
Ritual investiture is a total theatrical event, combining verbal and visual
expressions of authority and consent sanctioned by traditions that have their
origin in mythical times binding together the King, chiefs, and people of
Tonga. The ritual acknowledges the rights and duties of various chiefly lines
and the people to whom they owe their support. 'Ulukalala's investiture was
part of the annual agricultural show, which has links with the pre-Christian
first-fruits rituals, 'inasi, that centred on the fertility of land, sea, and people.
The entire investiture event was a grand affair which reaffirmed the values
of the society, the stratified societal structure on which it is based, and the
political importance of land and titles. The event served as a frame for the
composition and performance of the verbal and visual aesthetic constructions through metaphor and allusion that affirm the shared values of the
society. More significant than the fact of the investiture itself, however, is
the interpretation of the event in which it is framed. Framing investiture
within the sacred kava ceremony, so intricately associated with Tongan
tradition, gives the aesthetically constructed ritual event symbolic capital
(Bourdieu 1967) that can be put to work by recontextualization. The
performance of authority and consent noted on various levels during the
14
'Utukaunga is the name of the kie mat that 'Ulukalala wore for the ritual investiture.
114
ritual, expand outward into everyday life as the symbolic capital is used and
transformed into action. These aesthetic constructions, presented visually
and verbally through barkcloth and poetry, can be used by the new
'Ulukalala as he conceives and constructs his role in Tongan society in the
late twentieth century.
Kolovai, chief Ata, and the mat of Satan
The village of Kolovai and its chief Ata have long been important in
Tonga, even from before the present dynasty. Designated individuals from
this village préparé the kava for ritual events for the Ha'a Ngata chiefs (the
larger group of chiefs to which the Tupou dynasty belongs). Chief Ata held
out for a long time against accepting Christianity, and numerous matanga
(sites or monuments of historie or scenic significance) in the area are
associated with him. A ngatu stencil set visually represents some of these
matanga and ideas about the historie chiefs of this title. One of the natural
matanga is "Fala 'o Setane,' mat of Satan. This refers to a place near the
beach on Ata's estate, and today there are a variety of interpretations of the
name. One interpretation is that the trees in this area drop their needies into
the sand in such profusion that walking on it is like walking in heil. Another
interpretation is that Satan's work was carried out here by Ata himself.
Whatever the interpretation, the heliaki is that Ata was one of the last chiefs
to convert to Christianity. The stencil set was made by Fetongi Latükefu,
originally from the village of Kanokupolu. The women of Kanokupolu are
considered to be the best ngatu makers in Tonga, and Fetongi is said to be
"the best stencil maker.' Her finished ngatu are also considered to be among
the best, because of her careful overseeing of the koka'anga to make sure
that the long lines are straight (very difficult to accomplish) and her precise
tohi ngatu (plate 7).
Fetongi's explanation of the stencil and overall design is as follows. The
stencil set is called Fala o Setane or Sisi peka o Pilinisi Ata, (sisi of flying
foxes for Prince Ata). There are two full strips of the latter stencil along both
sides of the ngatu. The peka (flying foxes or fruit bats) are a distinctive
matanga of the village of Kolovai, where tree after tree is hung full of these
bats, which are considered sacred to the Tu'i Kanokupolu line and especially
the village of Kolovai. The fact that Ata's decorative girdle is composed of
these bat designs implies that both bats and Ata are the essence of Kolovai.
The triangular design above the bats adds further information. This design,
called tokelau feletoa, is a design associated with the northern island Vava'u
(tokelau = north, feletoa = a historie matanga). The combination of peka
with tokelau feletoa alludes to the fact that the last Ata (and the present Ata)
also have the Vava'u title 'Ulukalala. The kupesi combines the two titles into
one person.
The series of triangles interspersed with the other stencils are papai fa,
necklace of pandanus keys, usually having a male symbolism. The fala o
setane stencil includes not only papai fa necklaces, but also a fa tree with
115
Plate 7. Fala o Setane ngatu with Fetongi Latükefu, 19H7. (Photo by A. Kacppler)
the personal name 'Fakapouuli kate eiki' which belonged to, and therefore
symbolizes, Ata. This tree, like fala o setane, alludes LO the sexual exploits
of a former Ata. Below the printed name are the kefukefu and tono creepers
found hearing on the beach - tono, having the aciditional meaning of
adultery.
The final stencil of the set is hala mohuanga which refers to the street
where a former Ata lived. Near the door of his house was a tree named
'Heilala ko Talikelahi' depicted in the stencil. The zigzag lines above the
name symbolize peoplc crossing the street, and Ata was alleged to say
something about each person as he or she passed by, and that the heilala
tree spoke for Ata. The two clots with radiating lines represent an old ngatu
design called aotapu, and here is said to represent the sun shining down on
the heilala tree, and thus on Ata.
Fala o Setane is also a heliaki of the final verse of the lakalakaoï Kolovai,
which dramatizes the kava preparaüon for the Ha'a Ngata chiefs, the duty
and responsibility of Kolovai.
Milolua Lakalaka of Kolovai15
Stanza VII
Ko e ngata e holo taumafa
Hiki e tau'a kan foki ange
This is the end of our royal kava mixing
Kava mixers and helpers move and return [to
Kolovai]
15
The poetry was composed by E. Vanisi in 1931 for the village of Kolovai and was first
performed for the 13th birthday celebration of the present King. Huluhoio Mungaloa of Kolovai
gave me the text, and with his help I made the translation. See Kaeppler 1985 for an analysis.
116
'O 'eva he Fala 'o Setane
'O kahoa hono laumaile
Mo ta sei hono lou siale
To walk upon the Mat of Satan
And wear the maile leaves
And our ear ornament of siale flowers
The Milolua lakalaka is the identity marker of Kolovai, and when
performed during national celebrations and other events it indicates the
importance of Kolovai to the integration of the kingdom. Together, the
Milolua lakalaka and fala o setane ngatu express the essence of Kolovai and
Ata. Important rituals cannot take place without Kolovai's kava mixers, and
Ata is an integral part of the Ha'a Ngata chiefs. What is notable in both of
these cultural forms is the lack of invasive Christian ideas. Indeed, a formal
kava ritual is one of the few remaining domains into which Christianity has
not been intermixed, and Kolovai has perpetuated these hallmarks of
tradition. However, since the installation of the present Ata in 1990, Fala 'o
Setane has been renamed Fala 'o Ata, and the street that leads to it has been
renamed Hala 'o Liukava (road of conversion). Transformations continue in
Kolovai.
Salote, Queen of paradise
Without doubt Queen Salote was the most renowned twentieth century
Tongan. During her long reign as Tupou III from 1918 to 1965 she was
responsible for introducing many ideas from the West, and transforming
them by making them part of the total social and cultural system. Throughout post-contact history, it was the British style that was transformed by
mating with Tongan concepts of social stratification, and today Tonga is an
amalgam of both. Queen Salote's hope was to bring only superficial change
to Tonga and thereby make fundamental change unnecessary, and it was she
who set the cultural agenda for the nation and made Tongans proud of their
identity.
In 1953 Queen Salote attended the coronation of Queen Elizabeth, and
a fuatanga stencil set was made to commemorate this event. I have only
seen one example of a fuatanga made from it. The design commemorates
what would be appropriate for Queen Salote to wear for the coronation. The
basic motif which runs in two vertical strips is sisikakalaopilolevu (flower
girdle of Pilolevu, Queen Salote's third name), but this sisi is made of the
sun, moon, and stars (fig. 24). Running parallel with this design are two
alternating stencils depicting a seilaveitavake, a hair ornament of tail
feathers from the Tropicbird, and kahoapuleoto, a necklace of a puleoto
shell strung on human hair. A variation of the sisi kupesi runs along the edge,
and is rendered in the more usual way by depicting the hibiscus fibre loops
that form the bottom layer of a sisi in conjunction with a papaifa necklace,
another traditional design based on the square grid called feliuaki1'3 and the
ubiquitous manulua. In essence, the stencil set brings in all the highestranking ornaments which, metaphorically, refer to this high-ranking queen.
16
Fetiuaki means to go in all directions, as the lines on these squares do, but I have been
unable to solicit any heliaki for ihis kupesi.
POET1CS AND POLITICS OF TONGAN BARKCLOTH
1 17
Figure 24. Detail of fuatanga, showing sïsï of sun. moon, and stars, and designs of hair
ornament of Tropicbird feathers, and necklace of puleoto shell. (Photo by A. Kaeppler)
The heliaki of the design is that Queen Salote is entïtled to wear all these
status-revealïng ornaments which denve supernatural qualities from their
rarity in nature (such as the Tropicbird and puleoto shell) and celestial
phenomena. just as Salote has a rarified genealogy and can tracé her lineage
back to the sky god Tangaloa. The huge fuatanga was presented to Queen
Salote to commemorate her attendance at the coronatïon, and was eventually cut ïnto pieces and given by Queen Salote for events that were of
importance to her. One such event was the wedding of Eunisi. the oldest
daughter of Queen Salotes trusted companion Nanisi Helu.17 When Eunisï
married Na'a Fiefia in 1955, this piece of fuatanga was part of Eunisi's vala
to'onga, ceremonial wedding clothes. and she still keeps it as her most
treasured koloa.
Another stencil set commemoratïng events in the life of Queen Salote
recalls her efforts. and Tonga's, on behalf of the Allied Forces during World
War II. Tonga raised funds to purchase four Spitfires; the two that were built
and used in the war were named 'Queen Salote' and Prince Tungi - Tonga
Ko. TT' (chief Tungi was her consort).18 The stencil set features the Spitfire
1
18
Nanisi and Eunisi explained its heliaki and significance to me m December 19K6.
KingTupou IV. personal communication 1994. R. A. Funnell of The Royal Air Force Museum
has furnished the following details: Queen Salote". BM124 Spitfire MkVB. was delivered on 1
March 1942: after several battles. damage and repairs it was scrapped on 15 April 1946. Pnnte
Tungi -Tonga No. II', MJ5O2 Spitfire MK IX. was delivered on 17 November 1943; after several
battles. damage and repairs it was scrapped on 14 June 1945.
118
named 'Kuini Salote\ hut the named design is koesisimaileotugi (Tungl's sisi
of maile leaves), which refers to the elongated diamonds suspended from
the named walst band (fig. 25). The Spitfires are framed by two concentric
squares (reminiscent of fata) filled with small squares having the crossedline grid for colouring-in a manulua design. Unfortunately, we do not know
the stencil maker or Tongan recipiënt of this piece, to interpret the heliaki.
A piece of this ngatu was in a private colleetion in England19 and its owner
believed that it was brought to England in 1953 when Queen Salote came
for Queen Elizabeth's coronation. If this is the case. the airplane may have
the doublé heliaki of the Spitfire and her trip to England (altough she went
by boat nither than by plane). The sisi may have the doublé heliaki of
referring to her husband Tungï and her son who was appointed to the Tungï
title in 1945. The manulua may refer to Queen Salote, her husband. and/
or her son - all of whom have high rank on both sides. The decorative
designs are flowers, necklaces. and hair ornaments.
For some years through her musical compositions, Queen Salote constructed a theme that Tonga was the best place for Tongans and that the
Figure 25. Ngatu with
Sisi maile o Tungï design
.showing Spitfire. 1953?
Private collection.
(Photo by British Museum)
The former owner, Gwyneth Lloyd. furnished the information that she bought it at an
auctïon in Salisbury, Wiltshire. Il is now in the collection of the Museum of Mankind in London.
119
Christian god as well as celestial and natural phenomena (through which the
pre-Christian gods manifested themselves) took part in their daily affairs and
national events. Her compositions of lakalaka, tangilaulau, and hiva
kakala were building blocks that helped to shape the cultural identity of
Tonga for much of the twentieth century-0. On her trip to England in 1953
she is said to have seen a Bird of Paradise and on her return to Tonga she
elaborated her theme to suggest that Tonga is paradise and her composition
'Manu 'o Palataisi' (Bird of Paradise) became a popular hit.21 These
compositions, as well as her sociopoütical decisions, focus on the importance of the retention of the social system, derived from Polynesian chiefs
and ideas from European monarchy. for the continued independence of
Tonga from the European colonial powers; the importance of genealogy and
the continued mixing of the chiefly blood Unes; the Importance of village
identity with their chiefly lines, and the importance of commemorating
specific events - historie and contemporary. Through her support of these
ideas and events, Queen Salote encoded a widespread emotional attachrnent to traditional values of kinship and rank so important in the Tongan
sociopoütical system.
Barkcloth use and design are the visual counterparts of these verbal
aesthetic constructions. Barkcloth is still used for clothing for special events
such as dancing (fig. 2ó) and costume parades; for blankets and napkins; for
interior decoration: to protect chiefs from walking on the bare ground, and
the bare ground from the mana of the chiefs (fig. 27); and especially for
ceremonial presentations and acknowledgement of ones rank during
important events (fig. 28). The social life of a piece of barkcloth bcgins as
Figure 2ó, Lakalaka of Kanokupolu wilh dancers wearing barkcioth skins. 1975. (Photo by
A. Kaeppler)
20
See Kaeppler 1967, 1993- and in press b for musical examples of this theme.
21
See Kaeppler (in press b). for an analysis of this song,
120
PACIFIC MATERIAL CULTLRE
Figure 27. King Tupou I\' walks on a ngatu pathway from Royal Palace to mala'e. 1975.
(Photo by A Kaeppier).
Fïgure 28. Ngatu encircling the grave of Queen Salote with manulua design. 1965.
(Photo by A Kaeppler)
121.
an individual piece that becomes integrated into a large piece with specific
designs; this large piece takes part in one or more important ceremonial or
ritual events, usually associated with the monarch or village chief; it is cut
into smaller pieces for lesser-status events such as non-chiefly weddings,
funerals, or church functions; it may then be used for special clothing or
interior decoration; finally it is used for blankets and throw-away purposes.
It is like the social life of an individual: coming alone into the world, a child
is integrated into a larger group whose life is a series of special events and
everyday life and finally, after being irrevocably changed by these events,
he/she is separated with altered characteristics by death.
The designs record a visual history of important events, places, and
people of Tonga; they record new introductions such as gramophones and
bicycles; they visually preserve matanga that no longer exist; they objectify
and celebrate the monarchy, chiefly rank, and prestige. In short, they are
about national identity as an independent monarchy: about genealogical
associations with one's village and chief; and about the social construction
of the self - where one fits as part of all these identities.
As an anthropologist attempting to understand these multiple identities
and how society is constructed, I have found that studying the poetics and
politics of barkcloth has assisted in understanding the larger cultural system,
while at the same time, studying social life and events has assisted in
understanding the use and design of Tongan barkcloth.
References cited
Bourdieu, Pierre
1977
Outline of a theory ofpractice. Translated by R. Nice. Cambridge University Press.
Kaeppler, Adrienne L.
1967 Folklore as expressed in the dance in Tonga. Journal of'American Folklore
80(3l6):l60-l68.
1971 Aesthetics of Tongan dance. Ethnomusicology 12:175-185.
1985
Structureel movement systems in Tonga. In: Paul Spencer (ed.), Society
and the dance, the social anthropology of performance and process.
Cambridge University Press. Pp. 92-118.
1993 Poetics and politics of Tongan laments and eulogies. American Ethnologist 20:474-501.
(in press, a) The investiture of 'Ulukalala, a moment in history.
(in press, b) The paradise theme in modern Tongan music. Festschrift for Catherine
Ellis.
Kooijman, Simon
1972
Tapa in Polynesia. Bishop Museum Bulletin 234.
Mead, Sidney M.
1979
Introduction. In: Exploring the visual art of Oceania. Honolulu: The
University Press of Hawaii.
1 22
P A C I F I C MATERIAL C U L T U R E
TO BEAT OR NOT TO BEAT
THAT IS THE QUESTION
A STUDY ON ACCULTURATION AND CHANGE IN
AN ART-MAKING PROCESS AND ITS RELATION TO
GENDER STRUCTURES
Jehanne H. Teilhet-Fisk
Prologue
My initial introduction to Simon Kooijraan's works was through his
outstanding analysis of the 'Ancient Tahitian god-figures' (1964). This is one
of the really intriguing interpretations of the to'o images. I then read his
comprehensive treatise on Polynesian barkcloth, Tapa in Polynesia (1972).
This book has been the ethnographic mainstay of most works on barkcloth
and many, including myself continue to draw on it as the definitive source.
In the mid-70ties I had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Kooijman at a showing
of his film TAPA, LIFE AND WORK ON A SOUTH SEA ISLAND (MOCE)
(1974), a landmark in the field of low budget ethno-documentary cinematography. The film seeks to understand the continuity and change in Moce
tapa techniques from a Fijian perspective. Kooijman has published a number
of articles (1973, 1977, 1979, 1980, 1981, 1988) on the production of
barkcloth in the Lau Group of Fiji. The are all rich in description and yield
a high level of insight into the production and contextual meanings of Fijian
tapa, mast. He is also responsible for opening a new, comparative discourse
on the form Tonga tapa {ngatu vakatogd) takes in the eastern Lau Group
(Kooijman 1979:361).
Kooijman's broad comparative based ethnographic interests in the
'interrelation between the techniques of manufacture and decoration, the
size of the tapas, their design patterns ... and their function in society' differs
somewhat from Adrienne Kaeppler's approach (see: 'Poetics and politics of
Tongan barkcloth' in this volume) which is intertextual and seeks a deeper
post-structuralist interpretation of the underlying importance of Tongan
barkcloth (Kooijman 1973:109). Both approaches are key in helping us
expand our knowledge of the tapa complex and both seat their interpretations, primarily, on the meanings of barkcloth as a 'fine art' that exists in a
ceremonial context.
I have, however, chosen to pursue some of the issues Kooijman raises in
'Traditional handicraft in a changing society, manufacture and function of
stenciled tapa on Moce Island' (1979). He distinguishes the fact that the
'manufacture of mast kesa on Moce takes place on two levels for two
123
different purposes. On the highest level, the tapas are made which play a
part in a traditional ceremonial context ... [and] has a quality clearly
distinguishing it from those made on the lower level and meant to be offered
to foreigners outside the island' (1979:375-376).
Taking a closer look at the 'lower level' of the tapa complex allows us
to follow Kooijman's lead and distinguish the changes that have taken place
in the production of Tongan tapa. Changes in the tapa complex are
important, be it in process, gender division of labor, style, form, skill,
aesthetics, medium or intent - all are kinetically interrelated to changes in
the economie, political and/or social system. When I first wrote this paper
it was considered off-beat and sent to Dr. Kooijman to be juried. He
encouraged my line of thought and sent me his comments. I could not
acknowledge his useful observations at the time and so it is with great
pleasure that I can now dedicate this work to him.1
Introduction
In the summer of 1985 I was sitting in a small, barnlike structure with a
group of Tongan women who were making a large piece of tapa cloth. I
often sat with this group of women, and as I had just returned to Nuku'alofa
it was a nice way to say hello and let them know I was back for a while. It
was a pleasant day, the women chatted and laughed, and in the background
I could hear the distant, melodious sound of a woman beating tapa and
another responding in a sort of counterrythm. I turned to Louisa and
commented on the pleasing sound. Her reply stunned me. She told me that
one of my countrymen had invented a tapa-beating machine (fig. 29). I was
appalled by my immediate negative response to such a device. This sparked
my interest in surveying the general reactions of women (and some men) in
Nuku'alofa, the capital of Tonga, and led to this study on acculturation and
change in an art-making process and its relation to gender structures.
The making of art objects, as a process, is a fascinating vehicle for
exploring certain veiled aspects of acculturation and how it can affect
symbolic meanings, gender structures, and production decisions as well as
economie, social, and cultural factors.
Had I not been in Tonga, I might have viewed the introduction of a tapa
machine as a modern 'evolutionary' transition and dismissed it from my
thoughts. After all, the machine streamlines production, in this case without
significantly changing the actual medium or altering the final art object's
contextual uses. In this reading the art form fits into Graburn's heuristic
classification of 'functional traditional': It is a modern day continuation of
a traditional art form that has been modified by the presence of new tools
and technology and adapted to the cultural needs of that generation
(1984:396-397).
In pursuing the implications of this invention, I have come to realize that
most publications on the acculturated arts of small-scale societies tend to be
1
This article has been previousiy published, in a slightly different form, in the Journal Pacific
Studies 14(3):4l-68. It is reprinted with permission of the editor.
12 i
Figure 29. Three
tapa machines at
the resïdence of
Tupou Tonga, July
1985. (Photo by
Jehanne TeithetFisk)
object oriented, centering on changes in form, style, aesthetics, and use.
Contextualized sociocultural information detailing concomitant alterations
in the artistic process is lacking (Graburn 1984). This article will examine the
different social and syrnbolic actions connected with the tapa-beating
process, tutti, to bring into focus the manifold issues that arise with the
adoption of a machine that replaces a traditional process.
As interesting and complex is the tacit division of the artistic process by
gendcr and rank. Acculturation is not passive. nor shoulcl it be viewecl as a
detrimental form of assimilation. The participants. here artists, have an
active choice whether to accept or reject an alien technology, medium, or
style. However. few studies on acculturation fully address the changes that
may occur when the introduced technique or medium is gendcr (or class)
specific. Furthermore, this study will iilustrate how alien tools or technology
are more disposecl to acculturation if they follow the indigenous culture's
gender-specific divisions of labor. For instance, in Tonga as well as in most
Pacific societies, when alien metal tools were introduced in the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries they feil in alignment with indigenous art-making
ideologies and were adopted exclusively for use by men.2 The introduction
Most scholars recognize that the introduction of iron tools such as axes, saws, and nails to
Tonga led to an increase in local artistry in the nineteenth century, especiaüy evident in the
'ncatness' and intricacy of the bas-relief and the more pronounced use of 'decorative' imagery
found on clubs and flywhisk handles (Martin 1981, 2:359). Replacing shark's teeth and stone
with metal obviously expedites the carving process and allows the artisan to make even larger
outrigger canoes or more clubs.
However, a detailed analysis is lacking of the actual changes that occurred in the traditional
artistic process and whether the act of adopting Western tools concomitantly changed the role
of the artist by reducing or enhancing his abilïty for achieving social status. As metal tools
became more accessible. did they allow a greater pooi of men to compete for that specialized
rolc of artist? "Were these acculturated tools responsible for perhaps secularizing a more
ritualized process? And if more clubs were carved, do we attribute this to the introduction of
labor-saving tools. more artists, a concomitant response to changing sociocultural conditions.
or a combination of all these factors? Which has more importance and to whom, the process
or the object? Many of these same questions can be asked of other small-scale societies;
presumably we will never know the answers because the documentation of the process does
not exist in enough detail.
125
of quilting by missionary wives feil in alignment with tapa making in
Hawai'i, the Cook Islands, and the Society Islands and was primarily
adopted for use by women. Tongan women, as will be discussed, basically
rejected quilting; it did not become a popular acculturative art form as in the
other island cultures.
Focusing our attention on the artistic process and medium can further
provide new data for gender-specific studies (Rosaldo and Lamphere 1974;
Ortner 1981; Schneider and Weiner 1986; Gailey 1987a, 1987b). In a
materialist view, a deviation from the gender-specific art process or medium
should reflect a change in gender structure that correlates with social
reforms in a man's or woman's basic nature, status, and achievement. This
in turn is linked to further ideological changes taking place in the culture.
If, for example, Tongan women began carving tapa mallets, this could
indicate that the culture was undergoing some dramatic social changes in
gender ideology.
By placing a primary emphasis on the object's formal and aesthetic
sources and its intended market, as Graburn proposes (1984:397), it is easy
to lose sight of the subtle complexities and cultural dynamics manifested in
the art-making process. My intent is not to criticize the studies on acculturated art forms; however, these seminal works do not in general completely
address unseen sociocultural meanings embedded in the art process that
technical changes can alter or eliminate (Graburn 1976, 1984; Jules-Rosette
1984; Kirch 1984). Furthermore, it is important to realize that any form of
change is germane - be it in style, form, aesthetics, or medium - and has a
kinetic relation to the artistic process.
Studies on acculturation and change in the contemporary arts of smallscale societies are often linked with the rise of tourism as a source of national
income (Graburn 1976; Jules-Rosette 1984). Tourism is a relatively new
phenomenon in Tonga. In 1958, '1,715 individuals arrived on three cruise
ships, with additional 64 passengers arriving by air' (Kirch 1984:71). In 1969,
the first hotel was built and tourism emerged as a potential source of income.
The selling or trading of indigenously made 'functional traditional arts' to
European travelers had its beginning some two hundred years ago, 'but its
acceptance as a legitimate income generating strategy has been slow to
materialize' (Kirch 1984:109). Within the contemporary context of 'functional traditional' tourist art, we will explore the marketing potential of tapa
products and analyze how the machine was perceived as one way of helping
achieve tapa's income potential.
The more I became involved in the issue, to beat or not to beat, the more
I found that my questions and interest involved me directly, and though I
tried to remain impartial and hide my initial reaction, in time I feit like a
chameleon changing colors, clearly seeing and agreeing with the different
positions people took in this situation. Therefore I have tried to write my
analysis in a reflexive style, combining personal narrative with descriptive
ethnographic accounts, recognizing that I bring to it my background as an
art historian (see Clifford 1986, 1988:215-251).
126
The making of tapa cloth
Decorated tapa cloth (jigatu) and its process of manufacture still belong
under the exclusive hegemony of Tongan women. Tapa cloth has lost its
utilitarian and re-ligious functions, being surplanted by Western goods and
Christianity, but it is produced for ceremonial use and as acculturated art for
tourist consumption (seeTamahori 1963; Kooijman 1972, 1973:97-112, 1988;
Teilhet 1974; Kaeppler 1978a: 174-193).
Tapa cloth is made from the inner bark of the paper mulberry tree (hiapo,
Broussonetiapapyri/era). Currently, the process has three essential stages.
Tutu is considered the most physically arduous. In this stage the previously
soaked inner bark. which is about two inches wide by several feet in length,
is placed on a wooden anvil (jutud) and beaten with a heavy, four-sicled
mallet (ike) to produce small felted pieces (fig. 30). These pieces retain their
length but now average eighteen to twenty inches in width and are called
feta'aki.2 Tutu can be done by one or more people. A strong beater might
feit together twenty-five to thirty yards of feta'aki in a full eight hour day.
The sheets of feta'aki are sun dried and then stored.
Figure 30. The tutu process. The inner bark is
beaten with a four sided mallet (ike) on a
wooden anvil (tutua). September 1972.
(Photo by jehanne Teilhet-Fisk)
3
The initial beaiing breaks and softens the fibers with the side of the mallet that has the
deepest groves; this \s called fakapa. In the process of 'opo'opo the woman continues the fold
and beat the cloth with the less grooved sides until she thinks it has reached its maximum width
and thinness. She then talatala (unfolds) each layer and gently taps it with the flat face of the
mallet"until the whole piece is laid out. A second strip can be beaten. merging the fiber with
the first if the original piece is too thin. The resultant fetaakd requires. depending upon the
age and sirength of the woman, between twenty and forty minutes to beat (Tamahori 1963:
Kooijman 1972, 1988; Teilhet 1974; Tapou Posesi Fanua. pers. com., 1985; Finau Moala and the
'Mofuike' kautaha of Kolomotua, pers. com.. june 1985)
T O BEAT OR N O T T O BEAT
1 27
Koka'anga is the process of piecing together the feta'aki to form a long
sheet, which is then placed over a iow, half-cylinder-shaped table (papa
koka'anga) on which are fastened pattern boards (kupesï). The underlying
designs are rubbed visible with a dye from the koka tree (Bischofia
javanicd). The entire process requires a communal effort of ten to sixteen
women who belong to a women's cooperative (kautaha). They will spend
the entire day making one or two ngatu (patterned tapa cloths), each
averaging between thirty-five to fifty feet in length.
The final stage, tobt ngatu, the outlining of the kupesi pattern, is the
responsibility of the maker-owner of the piece and usually executed by a
few women friends at a later time (Tamahori 1963:37-41, 90-95, 111-114;
Teilhet 1974; Kaeppler 1978a.-264-265). This paper is only concerned with
the first stage, the tutu, a process which had remained virtually unchanged
from at least the time of contact until Geoffery Houghland, a former Peace
Corps volunteer who served in Tonga, returned in the early 1980s with a
prototype for a tapa-beating machine (Martin 1981:365). He feit that 'the
beating of tapa was no longer a traditional act' and that the 'noisy process
was the most time consuming and physically demanding aspect of manufacturing tapa cloth' (Houghland, pers. com., July 1985).
Houghland invented a simple, quiet machine that works like a wringer
or toothed mangle. After soaking, the inner bark of the paper mulberry tree
is first run through the teeth of a roller on the diagonal, breaking down the
fibers. Thereafter the barkcloth is run straight through several times and, as
the cloth widens, it is continuously foldecl for strength. When the desired
width is reached, the feta'aki is hung up to dry. The machine takes less than
five minutes to produce a feta'aki, a savings of twenty to thirty-five minutes
(Houghland, pers. com., July 1985; personal observations of the machine
and women at work, July 1985, April 1987, June 1988). Subsequent machines
were reduced in scale to make them more portable. The size and shape of
the rollers teeth were refined to prevent them from tearing the cloth.
Houghland rightfully boasted that the finished product was indistinguishable from hand-beaten feta'aki once it had been ironed or beaten for
a few minutes with the smooth side of a mallet. It seems that his decision
to make a tapa machine was predicated on the fact that he had the technical
solution to a tiresome artistic process that seemingly had no cultural
relevance or symbolic meaning. The machines sold for approximately US$
400. Expense, though an issue, is not the sole reason few machines were
sold and are operating.4
Houghland was a benevolent entrepreneur who wished to share his invention, even though
he put a relatively high price on the machines (approximately US$ 400 translated into 350
pa'angain 1985 and 500pa'angain 1987). This he defended by staving that the machine would
pay for itself in no time at all (pers. com. with Houghland, July 1985; Tupou Tonga, April 1987).
He feit that the women's cooperatives, formeel to make tapa cloth for social and ceremonial
obligations, could raise enough money to buy his machine and thereby increase their
production and expand into the tourist business for a cash profit. I was told that eight women's
cooperatives raised enough money to buy machines (Tonga, pers. com., May 1987). To help
defray the cost, women from other districts of Nuku'alofa were charged a minor fee to use these
machines. Tonga said, 'I have a machine at my home. People come here and pay me something
to use it. I charge them from two to five pa'anga for the day, or whatever they can pay. I don't
care how much they pay me actually, I just care that they come' (pers. com., July 1988).
128
The issue: To Beat or Not to Beat
The question is, to beat or not to beat? This issue concerns alternative
perspectives on how the tutu process is perceived by different social worlds
and how they try to resolve the anomaly (see Becker 1974, 1976 for his use
of social worlds). Houghland represents the etic view of the outsider: His
is the social world of the egalitarian entrepreneur who comes from America
and operates on the assumption that Tongan women who make tapa have
acquiesced to a changing Pacific and that the production of their artistic
heritage, tapa, is open to acculturation and modernization. Visiting tourists
and commercial dealers who buy the finished tapa product as authentic
'handmade' souvenirs complete this etic view.
The chiefly ranks and the commoners represent the manifold emic views.
Tapa plays an integral part in the matrix of their society. Tonga is a
constitutional monarchy that still maintains principles of social status and
societal rank based on primogeniture, genealogy, purity of descent line, and
complex exchange structures. Commoners (tu'a), though emancipated from
forced labor in 1862, are still differentiated within society from the chiefly
ranks Ceiki), as are all societal rankings and groupings differentiated from
each other by systems of exchange and dichotomous hierarchies (see
Kaeppler 1971; Rogers 1977; Biersack 1982). Furthermore, it is interesting to
note that all societal ranks participate in a form of status rivalry: 'persons
compete assertively to dominate or elevate themselves above each other
(with public approval or acquiescence) and at the same time are privately
wary of attracting attention of becoming overly involved in any situation or
relationship, preferring instead spectator or humble positions' (Marcus
1978a:242).
Tapa's cultural relevance, especially for women
Though Houghland represents the etic view, he is cognizant that the
finished tapa has maintained a relevance to the culture, especially for
women. It is a necessary valuable (koloa) that must be presented at all lifecrisis occasions and status-raising or status-affirming ceremonies such as
weddings, funerals, births, and graduations and as presents to 'chiefly'
dancers (fig. 31). In a curious way, tapa and fine mats are of greater national
importance today than, perhaps, in ancient times. They are, in a ceremonial
context (along with formal kava bowls), the last vestiges of a plastic heritage
that publicly reinforce and legitimize the dominant principles of societal
rank and social status.
Furthermore, I would hypothesize that tapa is used in many public
ceremonies to reinforce the superiority of the female status, particularly in
the role of sister. In the Tongan descent system, sisters outrank brothers
whereas the father's side outranks the mothers, giving the father's eldest
sister (mehekitanga) and her children the highest rank (see Goldman 1970;
Rogers 1977; Marcus 1978a, 1978b; Bott 1981; Biersack 1982; James 1983,
1988). This notion of women's abstract honors and sacred superiority is
reflected in their obligatory displays, recycling, and ownership of ngatu and
129
Figure 31. Women presenting a f'inishcd tapa cloth to mark the seventy-fifth birthday of His
Majesty King Taufa'ahau Tupou IV, Juiy 1993- (Photo byjehanne Teilhet-Fisk)
may be an important factor in understanding why quilting was not adopted
as a likely surrogate for tapa cloth as it was on other Polynesian islands.
Tapa is always given by women who, in some sense, bask in reflected
honor by sharing center stage with those women (and men) being singled
out as the higher-status recipients of that occasion. Tn this view the
continued sociocultural importance of ngatu rests more on the sustained
importance of the woman's social as sister, hence fiver or receiver, than on
the importance of marking societal rank. The importance of tapa argues in
favor of James's statement 'that sisters' roles in Tonga have by no means
been erodcd although they may face new constraints, and that, in some
institutional sectors at least, women's status may have improved' (1983:235).
In addition, the highly charged, often theatrical, pre.sentation of tapa is an
interesting form of female status rivalry that Marcus seems to overlook
(1978a). And even to this clay, one certain way of measuring a woman's
indiviclual wealth and status mobiiity is by the amount of ngatu she
stockpiles.
Artistic divisions of labor by gender, rank, and status
Tonga still maintains a strict gender division of artistic labor. Women are
usually associated with goods made from soft materials that center on the
home. Many of these soft materials are considered koloa, valuables of
ceremonial significance (pers. com. with Tupou Posesi Fanua, June 1983,
and Futa ITelu, June 1985; James 1988:33-3-4; Cowling n.d.). Tools, technol-
130
ogy, and more physically demanding labors (called ngaué) are mainly
associated with works outside the house produced by men from hard and
soft materials that center on the plantation (Teilhet 1978; Gailey 1987b:97101). 'In Tonga there is still the notion that everything outside the house
belongs to the male province. Everything inside the house, mats and tapa,
is the women's province' (Okusitino Mahina, pers. com., July 1988).
However, it is not unusual for men's works such as an old kava bowl, to be
considered koloa.'"'
The recent reevaluation of soft materials, cloth in particular, and their
relationship with women has shown that these objects, though reflective of
'the home', are sometimes used in a sacred, religiopolitical context (Kaeppler 1978a; Gailey 1980, 1987a, 1987b; Hammond 1986; Weiner 1987; James
1988; Weiner and Schneider 1989; Berlo n.d.). However, in their zeal to
reexamine and correct the litany, these studies tend to overlook the role of
the berdache or effeminate male as well as the collaborative and perhaps
controlling role that men play as providers of women's tools, technology,
and, in some cases, media.
Men grow the hiapo used to make tapa but would never make tapa.
Sometimes 'the boys might help beat the tapa because they are strong, but
they are ashamed to do that. They are called sissies, fakaleitt (like a lady)
(Tupou Tonga, pers. com., July 1988; on fakaleüi see Cowling 1986; James
1983:240-241). Social sex roles and gender identity are highly correlated. If
women worked with hard material (which by implication requires more
physically powerful labor), this would be a role reversal and could be
considered as a sign of masculinity or a form of transvestism, rather than an
indication of modernity or women's liberation (Teilhet-Fisk 1987; West and
Zimmerman 1987).6
Men make the mallets and anvils, thereby controlling the tools, technology, and (functional) process of beating tapa. Whether intentional or not,
this safeguards the hard materials for their own use (see Teilhet 1978;
Teilhet-Fisk 1983). It seems likely that Tongan society constructed, before
Western contact, art-making ideologies that were aligned with their genderbased divisions of labor. These ideologies were a paradigm of an ideal social
construction where gender (and class) lines were rarely crossed, a fabrications that remains artistically intact today. For example, some men carve
tourist objects and women can help, but only by sanding the finished
product, as carving is a hard medium that utilizes tools (pers. com. with male
carvers Mone Vai, November 1983; Timote Tukutukunga, July 1985; Fatua
1
It is debatable whether koloa and ngaue are in fact gender-specific terms (see James 1988:3336). Though the term koloa is still associated with valuables that are made by women and given
in a ceremonial context, 'a kava bowl carved by a man can also be called koloa when it is very
old. Initially the bowl would be ngaue but after it has been in the family for a period of time
it acquires a certain transactional (rather than purely utilitarian) value. Ngaue can refer to men's
work, but it is becoming a common term for any kind of work. Women often refer to making
tapa as ngaue ('Alamoti, Mele, and 'Afuha'amango Taumoepeau, pers. com., July 1988).
6
Even Mariner quoted Tongan men as saying 'it is not guale fafine (consistent with the
feminine character) to let them do hard work; women ought only to do what is feminine.
Who loves a masculine woman? Besides, men are stronger, and therefore, it is but proper that
they should do the art labour' (Martin 1981, 2:370-371).
Vakamilalo, April 1987; and with the wife of a carver, Sesalïna Mau, April
1987). At this time it is still difficult for cultures like Tonga to assimilate
gender-specific art technologies and media that do not conform to their preChristian art-making ideologics.
The tapa-beating machine is an example of this conflict. It is a male
technology, introduced by an outsider for use in a female process. The art
process and medium act as a kind of external control that defines the limits
of proper gendcr behavioral roles. James suggests that in formcr times
manhood in Tonga was associated with warfare, voyaging, gardening, and.
I wil! add, artistry (1983:241). Even though these notions have dramatically
Plate 8. Tupou Tonga showing how the tapa machine works, July 1985.
(Photo by jehanne Teilhet-Fisk)
32
:hanged through Western contact and Christianity, James fails to indicate
hat contemporary tools and technology (once linked with weapons) are still
:orrelated with manhood and fall accordingly into the males' perception of
heir behavioral role (1983:240-241).
Pursuing this gender-based approach I questioned why the men, who are
nterested in and metaphorically associated with tools and technology, had
not built a tapa-beating machine for the women.7 I discovered that 'Tongan
men don't think about women's things' (Posesi Fanua, pers. com., July
1985). One Tongan man reiterated what other men had indirectly expressed
by saying that he didn't care about tapa! 'My wife cares about tapa. I is she
that has to worry about the tapa because it is not going to shame me if we
don't have any tapa on that particular occasion' (Dr-ew Havea, pers. com.,
April 1987).A woman with a university degree responded, 'Men wouldn't
think of beating tapa as drudgery. In fact, a lot of our more modern men
would be pleased if women used the machine because that would mean
women would have more time for doing something else. You would be
amazed at how many women get out of doing other things by saying that
they have to beat tapa or work on the koka'anga (Lata Soakai, pers. com.,
July 1988). These unexpected responses suggest that women, rather than
crossing the gender division of labor and proper social behavior, initiate the
request or barter for male tools that become feminized through association
with women.
The sexual division of labor is so deeply ensconced within the social
order that no one questions it (Leibowitz 1986:43-75). Therefore it seems
that a tapa-beating machine could only have been introduced by an outsider
who was unaware that such a simple invention could open the proverbial
Pandora's box.
Acculturation and change, the need for civil approval
It is important to realize that the effectiveness of Houghland's laborsaving device was demonstrated in a sociocultural 'safe' zone, an area set
aside for foreign industries. Houghland established his business, Polynesian
Prints, in 1983 at the small-industries center in Ma'ofanga. Here he taught
Tongan women how to machine-make feta'aki for his notepaper industry.
The machine needed official sanctioning by civil authorities, and to a
lesser extent by Christian community groups, before it could be considered
for assimilation by the populace. Graburn has suggested that these traditional arts ephemeral to a society are more receptive to acculturation and less
likely to need cultural approval (1969). Tapa, however, is not an ephemeral
art. To promote the machine's acceptance Houghland found an ally in
Tupou Tonga.
Tupou Tonga said that she had heard from someone that 'a missionary had made a tapabeating machine from bicycle parts with attached hammers for King George Tupou II in the
early 1900s' (pers. com., April 1987). This may be true or may be generated out of deferénce
and respect for the royal fatnily by linking the king's name with a new invention. I am amazed
that Houghland did not solicit the patronage of the queen, for that would have been the proper
action to take.
133
One evening, so I was told, at a meeting held in the Catholic basilica, an
older woman sat in and listened to the discussion on whether to accept the
machine. After all was said and done she exclaimed, 'Why not use the tapa
machine?' Thereafter this woman, Popou Tonga, was credited as being the
first Tongan to fully appreciate the machine's potential (plate 8). She
became Houghland's major champion for its adoption to replace the tutu
process. Tonga's support was not surprising when you really that she had
always been an advocate for bettering women's conditions. A woman of
some means and social mobility, she had married a magistrate, served as a
Girl Guide commissioner, and started a family planning clinic.
Tonga told me how difficult it was to get the initial civic approval for the
machine. 'I went to the minister of commerce, who told me to see the
secretary. The secretary told me to write the minister a letter'. Armed with
a petition signed by fifty women Tonga was finally allowed to demonstrate
the machine. 'We made some feta'aki. The minister said, Is that all? I said
yes. You bring in all sorts of machines for digging, for everything, but there
is no help for us women. No machines for us. He said well, I don't know,
but the other men said we will lose our customs. Once we have tapa-beating
machines the girls won't know the old way. They will rely on the machines.
Anyway I thought that was that and didn't take any notice. Later the minister
called me up and said, 'Mrs. Tonga, I will approve your petition' (pers.com,
July 1985, May 1987, July 1988).8 Having gained civil (and church) approval
to use the machine, Houghland and Tonga set out to convince the populace
of its merits.
Divided opinions from the people of Nuku'alofa
I asked Tevita 'Alamoti Taupoepeau, an authority on traditional Tongan
customs, his opinion on the tapa-beating machine. He had been living in
Hawai'i and was stunned to hear about the invention. 'Although change is
inevitable, I am concerned that following generations might not know that
tapa was beaten. I am for the preservation of the original, the traditional'
(pers. com., with translation assistance from Mele Taumoepeau and
'Afuha'amango Taumoepeau, July 1988). 'Alamoti Taumoepeau's concern is
justified: Western Polynesia is the only place where tapa is made and
presently Fiji and Western Samoa rely on Tonga for the large pieces of
ceremonial tapa. In the rest of Polynesia the making of tapa cloth was
replaced by quilting — a gender-specific female product that came to embody
many of the cultural values and symbolic meanings inherent in tapa (see
Hammond 1986 for an overview). The only beating that is now heard in
Hawai'i, the Society Islands, or the Cook Islands comes from 'living' museum
programs that reconstruct traditional art forms.
Papiloa Foliaki, a person of economie means, social status, and accomplishments, was the only woman elected to Parliament from 1976 to 1981.
When I returned to Tonga in July 1988, I read Tupou Tonga a draft of this article and she
gave me a slightly different account of what had happened. In 1985 she had told me the minister
gave her two years to try the machines, after which the department would make a formal
"ecision. As the machines are still in use, I quote her present account.
134
She supports women's rights like Tonga, but opposes the tapa-beating
machine because she 'believes that the traditional system requires carefully
planned and gradually implemented modifications' (pers. com., July 1985;
reaffirmedjuly 1988). She considers herself a 'traditionalist' even though she
is a very successful wage-earning business woman (Foliaki, pers. com., July
1988).
Drew Havea, who was educated in an American university, cautioned me
on my use of this term. 'It is difficult to label Tongans traditionalist or
progressive. This is a recent thing. We talk about dividing ourselves into
traditionalists and progressivists, but it is not within our custom. We have
a particular place in society and we know what we are supposed to say and
when to say it; even if we think no we are supposed to say yes' (pers. com.,
July 1988). To suggest that Foliaki is a traditionalist and Tonga a progressivist is misleading, but on the issue of whether to beat or not to beat they
stand divided and have a kind of status rivalry regarding the relative value
of such a machine. Nevertheless, Tonga has a more progressive socioeconomic attitude towards the machine. 'Women don't have the leisure time to
beat tapa anymore and it is too difficult for older women like me'.9 Beating
causes arthritis. Besides, no one can teil if the ngatu was beaten by hand or
wrung by the machine' (Tonga, pers. com. May 1987).
Tongans were able to resist 'involvement in wage labor throughout most
of the past 150 years' (Gailey 1987b:234). But currently Nuku'alofa suffers
from overpopulation, inadequate employment, and a lack of available land
for cultivation (Kirch 1984:65-69; Gailey 1987b:237-24l). Women are now
having to labor for wages to help pay a higher cost of living. Women who
are too old, without job skills, or unable to find employment have the idle
time or 'leisure' to labor traditionally and make tapa. With the expansion of
the tourist market both locally and abroad, tapa is becoming an acculturated
business that could support wage labor. But the process is physically
demanding regardless of one's age, so again we ask why these women
continue to beat, especially since the tutu process is slow and the quality
is not superior to that produced by the machine.
Foliaki contends that women continue to beat because 'the process has
therapeutic values. Beating is one of the main ways Tongan women have to
get rid of their anger and frustrations' (pers. com., July 1988). This
psychological interpretation may have some truth. However, Tonga
counters by saying, 'Papiloa doesn't have to beat tapa because she is
wealthy. She doesn't realize how heavy the mallet is. It cripples the hand,
causes bad backs, and the noise can cause deafness. I only beat the tapa
from eighty until noon, otherwise I will get sick the next day. I have to lie
down after twelve to get my strength again' (pers. com., July 1985).
' Boas wrote 'that the first condition for the development of artistic handicraft is leisure'
(1955:300). But this Western notion implies that leisure is the handmaiden of artistic production
and unwittingly demeans art to a form of play, obviating its cultural importance. Tonga's
sentiments are grounded in this ideology — tapa, which was traditionally made by women for
trade or barter, is seemingly being relegated to a peripheral role because w/omen have no
leisure. But, who said tapa making what ever an idle activity? It woufd be more appropriate
to suggest that tapa is no longer an effective means of commodity exchange in a time-oriented
world.
135
Foliaki acknowledges that people of wealth, status, or rank do not have
to beat tapa (pers. com., July 1985)- Before emancipation all decorated
ngatu was owned and its production controlled by the chiefly wives.10 After
emancipation commoners were allowed to make and regulate tapa for their
own use, but their affiliate women's cooperatives must still supply the
chiefly classes when asked (Posesi Fanua, pers. com., July 1985).n
It is evident from the comments elicited from Foliaki and Tonga that the
issue of beating or not beating also impinges on the different positions
women hold in Tongan social strata. An artistic division of labor distinguishes the chiefly classes from the commoners. Women of noble or chiefly status
would beat only to gain knowledge of the process. Commoner women with
'chiefly' powers such as the mehekitanga (father's sister) would relegate this
work to female relatives who are under obligation to them (see Rogers 1977
and Biersack 1982 for an overview). Commoner women with economie
wealth would buy feta'akiin the market. These differentations in the status
of women can also be affect by their husband's position, their position as
'daughter' of their father's sister, or their education and employment
opportunities.
Kaeppler demonstrates how the three essential stages of making tapa
have underlying structures that correspond to social organization. In her
seminal analysis, the beating process is linked to the commoners' social
domain (Kaeppler 1978a:2ó7). Therefore, it would be appropriate to further
suggest that performing the tutu process publicly validates, for all to hear,
a woman's common status. Today, it especially announces the fact that these
women are usually poor and lacking social status (as based on a survey of
twelve women who were beating tapa in 1988). They are not ashamed {ma)
to be beating, for it is considered a proper activity befitting their present
social position. At the same time it is not an activity that will increase their
social mobility.12 But for 'Limulaki' and 'Maria', who lack any social status
per se, beating tapa provides a new means of generating a small income.
Their feta'aki is sold in the market by a vendor. They agree 'it's hard work'
(pers. com., July 1985). When the right arm tires they beat with the left.13
In addition to interviewing Tongans from different social groups, I
10
'In the precontact period, when the rule by chiefs was still in full force, the manpower was
centered around the chief and the womanpower around the chiefs wife, who could dispose
of the women as a labor force. When many ngatu were required, for instance because of
important ceremonies connected with the marriage or death of people of rank, she called
together a group of women who manufactured the colored sheets. The product bore her
personal stamp to a high degree, because she made and kept possession of the required kupesi'
(Kooijman 1972:319; see also James 1988:33-36).
11
After emancipation the Tongan government formed strict regulations, particularly in regards
to the beating process. 'It shall be lawful to beat tapa from sunrise till sunset excepting during
the time of mourning for a chief and it will be with Government to determine the duration
thereof' (Tongan Government Gazette (March 1888) 2, 86: section 7).
12
Given this background, it is no wonder that the tapa-beating women I interviewed did a
doublé take when they saw who was depicted beating tapa on the new brochure for the Tongan
Cultural Center that officially opened in July 1988. The photograph is of Foliaki, who also found
it ironie. Evidently the photograph was taken while she was demonstrating the process to
tourists in her own cultural center behind her motel (Foliaki, pers. com., July 1988).
136
randomly questioned twelve women from various districts of Nuku'alofa
about the process while they were beating tapa (June and July 1988). It
appears that these women continue to beat for the following reasons: Two
did not have access to a machine in their district, two could not afford the
nominal usage charge, three had never heard about the machine, and the
remaining five said they prefer beating.
Building on the works of Levy (1973:326-356), Marcus (1978a), and James
(1983), I suggest that the art process and medium can also act as an external
control that helps define the acceptable (steady-state) cultural limitations of
a gender's social behavior. For example, implicit in some of the responses
solicited from the tapa-beating women was their feeling that it might be
socially inappropriate for them to use a tapa-beating machine. The employment of such a machine could be viewed by other Tongans as exceeding the
behavioral norm of their social status and gender. The fear of being publicly
ridiculed or embarrassed for working with an alien technology or unwarrantly elevating themselves seemed to curtail their interest. Older women of
high social standing, like Tupou Tonga, would not be ridiculed. On the
contrary, ownership and usage of the machine could add to Tonga's relative
social standing, if and when the machine was fully accepted.
In analyzing the responses from both genders, it is evident that women
continue to beat for reasons that vary according to the subject's gender, age,
rank, and social status. Overall, most Tongans interviewed are reluctant to
give up the tutu process because of its personal association with their pas.
Tutu is a symbolic referent to the way their grandmothers, mothers, or
'aunties' made tapa. In this context, the process is thought of in terms of its
historical depth and connected with aesthetic socialization and tradition for
traditions' sake. Tutu produces an affective response that is associated with
femaleness and female artistic heritage, making it less open to acculturation
or radical change, especially when the alien technology tries to prematurely
cross the gender line.
The introduction of a machine into an exclusively female field, however,
also opens the door to gender equality in labor issues. 'After all', Tonga
exclaimed, 'men have access to all types of machines to help them with their
13
Such ambidexterity in the plastic arts is interesting; it strengthens the notion that the beating
process is associated with labor, craft, and routine rather than skill, creativity, or sacredness.
A process that emphasizes the use of one hand over two is usually less constrained in its
technique and more open to innovation. For example, in small-scale societies painting or the
act of using paints ranks above the act of sculpting or weaving for many reasons (Forge
1970:279-280). One reason Forge does not suggest is the relationship that the action has with
single-handedness. Most art processes in small-scale societies reflect fundamental cultural
values: Two-handedness is expressive of the solidarity and tension of working as a group or
the giving out of generosity or obligation (Thompson 1974:54, 82, 112). The notion of using
two hands simultaneously stresses the idea that the social group works as a community,
whereas the emphasis on one hand - single handed — is reserved for leadership or 'singular'
acts requiring 'special' skill, knowledge, and powers of execution. One-handedness over the
other is also evident in the making of the esteemed kupesi pattern boards that were once made
and owned only by chiefly women (Martin 1981, 2:366). Even today, common women who
make kupesi earn respect and gain social prestige, whereas any woman can beat, However,
when the tutu process is analyzed for its nonprocedural aspects, typified by tonal sounds, we
have a different situation. In this context, ambidexterity could well be interpreted as a sign of
skill in executing rhythm patterns.
TO BEAT OR N O T TO BEAT
[ 37
work' (pers. com., July 1985, 1987). Those women who advocate use of the
machine greet it as a device liberating them from hours of labor. Other
women are critical of the tutu process because they feel that it publicly
reinforces their commoner status. Nowadays, within the social matrix of a
commoner, 'beating is often a sign of being under obligation, poor, or
lacking job skills. If you have money you will pay someone to beat tapa'
(Limu Havea, pers. com., May 1987). But whether one beats or not. most
women are predisposed to maintaining the ceremonial tradition of tapa as
it visually substantiates their preeminent position as women, particularly as
sisters.
The machine's impact on ethnovalues and symbolic scale
I asked if the machine would change their standards of ethnovalue and
lessen the tapa cloth's contextual use and symbolism within the culture. A
similar analogy can be drawn between hand-sewn and machine-made
quilts. According to Hammond, in contemporary Polynesia hand-made
quilts have greater ethnovalue and symbolic meaning because of the care,
time, and individual quilting skill expended by the maker (1986:4, 15, 2122). And, I would suggest that the hand-sewning process, like beating, is
associated with an acceptable gender division of labor, aesthetic socialization, and nostalgia for the past. Sewing machines, however, are finally
becoming more acceptable and gaining in popularity, a reflection of a
changing (more practical) era where decreased work time accommodates a
cash economy and foreign market (Hammond 1986:4, 22).
Most Tongans interviewed agreed that beaten tapa has more symbolic
value. But many, such as Lata Soakai, do not believe that the machine will
affect tapa's overall ethnovalue. The tapa machine has no effect on the
quality of the medium or its artistic principles (whereas the sewing machine
does affect quilt quality because artistic principles and aesthetic merit are
conjoined with the process and maker). Furthermore, in contemporary
Tonga tapa's value is based on the age of a product, its contextualization,
and the prestigious rank or status of its owner or past owners - not on the
individual makers (Gailey 1987b:112-118; James 1988:34-35; pers. com.,
with the Honorable Ve'ehala, July 1985; Helu, November 1983, July 1985;
'Alamoti, 'Afuha'amango, and Mele Taumoepeau, July 1988). Size, artistic
embellishments, and skill determine its aesthetic worth (pers. com. with
Helu, November 1983; 'Alamoti, 'Afuha'amango, and Mele Taumoepeau,
July 1988).
However, the machine could impact aesthetic appreciation for tapa's
scale. A tapa's immense size is noted with a kind of reverence and spoken
of metaphorically as having chiefly status; it is 'eiki(plate 9). In former times
the longer the tapa, the more powerful the chiefly wife because length
symbolized hours of woman-power subjugated to make such a tapa. The
continue, repetitive patterns are meant to be viewed from a distance and to
heighten the appearance of length as a thirty-five-to-seventy-foot tapa
oscillates and trembles in the hands of the women presenting it in a
ceremonial context. Tapa's two-dimensional medium is transposed into a
13S
Plate 9. A tapa's immense size is noteci with a kind of reverence and spoken of metaphorically as having chiefly status; il is "eiki. July 1993- (Photo byJehanne Teilhet-Fisk)
floating three-dimensional sculpture, a kind of performance piece that is
meant to be experienced in its entirety. Now, the emotional response
{ma/and) Tongans experience in the perforrnative mode from such an
immense piece of tapa could change dramatically if it was machine made.
Houghland has defended his machine by saying that if nothing else, it
would easily accommodate the tourist market that places a different
emphasis on tapa's value and meaning (pers. com., July 1985). To begin
with, tourists do not want large pieces of tapa, for they are too difficult to
transport and display. Tourists prefer small pieces to use as place mats, wall
hangings, purses, or notepaper.1''1 Here. new aesthetic principles take
precedence over size and the machine oblige.s the market. Or does it?
Houghland printed on the back of his note cards: 'The front of this card is
genuine Tapa cloth.' The clescription goes on to explain the cultural
importance of tapa cloth and the 'traditional' beating process of manufacture, blatantly implying that his cards are traditionally beaten by a 'mallet
until the strips are paper thin ... Polynesian Prints is proucl to offer you this
attractive genuine hand-made Tapa cloth carcls'. It is an interesting contradictïon of terms - Houghland sold machine-beaten tapa that purported to
be handmacle.
14
'l'ongan women recognize these preferences of foreign consumers and are now making
small tapa paintings. They beat small sections of feta'aki about eight by twelve inches, piecing
them with flour paste, and backing the re.sulting tapa on wovcn mats. The product is then
painted by either gender with a store-bought brush. Women usually paint tapa designs and men
may paint represenlational imageiy, such as scenic views.
139
The tutu and tutua, symbolic meanings and tonal qualities
Finally, there is yet another view that argues against using a tapa-beating
machine. This view emphasize.s the nonprocedural, nonfunctional aspect of
the process, typified by cultural and symbolic meanings apparent in
producing the tonal sounds that are an inseparable part of the tutu process
but have a role beyond the mere making of feta'aki. Indicative of this role
is the fact that the only stage of making tapa that can be done year-round
with or without the help of other women is the tutu process. The medium
is easily stored and the process is not affected by weather.
Tutu is the heartbeat of Tonga. It stops only when a person in the village
has died (pers. com. with Posesi Fanua, June 1985; Foliaki, July 1988). The
silence announces cleath and with it the period of mourning, which can last
from three days to three months depending upon the deceased's rank. The
silence sets the ritual stage by framing the action and focusing one's
attention on death and obligations to the deceased and especially to the
deceased's kin, 'Frequent deaths within the same area or same noble family
sometimes cause hardships to the non-ranking members of that social group
and the villages concerned, in that their ngatu stores become depleted'
(Tamahori 1963:127).
Tutu is the only Tongan art process that must stop when death occurs in
a village. My research shows that all other crafts may continue, even
construction work,so this is not just a ban against loud noise per se, but the
particular symbolic noise of the tutu. This conceptual differation of noise
points to the symbolic significance to the tutu. Furthermore, the interruption
of this process by death can cause a major depletion in tapa stores, creating
an additional hardship on women and their (status rivalrous) participation
in the complex gift-exchanges. Tonga told me that she had not made any
tapa since her husband died. Tt's been over a year. But', she smiled, 'I could
make tapa with the machine because it doesn't make any noise' (pers. com.,
July 1988).
To announce the lifting of a tabu imposed on the village by the death of
a chief or noble, the tutua is beaten with a mallet by ceremonially highranking female (fahu), who may be accompanied by two other women
(Rogers 1977:167; Kaeppler 1978b:193, Biersack 1982:188). This ritual,
called tukipotu, has an underlying sacred aspect marked by the fact that the
process is conceptually different - it is not purposeful to making feta 'aki and it must be performed by the f'ah~u (see Keappler 1978b:193; Teilhet
1990:224 on the significance of tukipotu). The sanctity of the act is
underscored by the fahu's sacredness. Her participation takes it out of the
secular realm of ordinary women and common labor, for under normal
circumstances a fahu would never beat the tutua; it would be beneath her
sacred status.
Older people do not always like the sound of the tutu. 'That sound
worries you when you hear it and when you're sick you can't go to sleep
with that sound. It seems that you get more sick by hearing that beating from
next door. When we have a funeral you are not allowed to beat the tutua'
(Tonga, in discussion with some older women in her kautaha, July 1985).
The beating of the tutua seems to remind the sick and the elderly of their
140
vulnerability. The only complaints that I heard were generated in this
context. Most Tongans of both genders like hearing the tutu.
Beating a rhythm, playing the tutua
The late Ve'ehala and the founder and headmaster of 'Atenisi school',
Futa Helu, both eminent authorities on Tongan culture, agreed that women
'play' the anvil. Women often sit two or three to a tutua and consciously set
up counterrhytms to pass the time more pleasantly (pers. com. with the
Honorable Ve'ehala, June 1985; Helu, June 1985). Helu expressed concern
that the beating machine would take the melody away. Mariner writes about
he beating having 'a very pleasing effect; some sounds being near at hand,
and others almost lost by distance; some a little more acute, others more
grave, and all with remarkable regularity, produce a musical variety that is
very agreeable, and not a little heightened by the singing of the birds, and
the cheerful influence of the scène' (Martin 1981, 2:365).
While working on issues concerning gender division of labor, I asked if
women ever played the Tongan drums called nafa or lali, knowing full well
that women rarely play percussion instruments in most traditional societies.15 (In 1988, I did see a woman play the nafa at the dances performed
in honor of the king's seventieth birthday and noted it as a mark of changes
to come.) Soakai replied that 'the drum is an instrument of authority that men
beat to mark the tempo, not only in dance but in life as well.' Tongan
women, she continued, 'realize that they are usually excluded from beating
drums in a ritual sense, but we control the rhythm by beating tapa. Beating
a rhythm while we make feta 'akiis one way we display our control' (Soakai,
pers. com., July 1985).
Though Kooijman's study cautions against comparing the functions and
techniques of tapa production in western Polynesia with those of Hawaii
and Tahiti (1973:107), it seems obvious that these cultures shared a common
interest in the tonal qualities of the beating process. The anvil used by
Hawaiian women (kud) had a hollow longitudinal groove, was raised to get
a better tone, and 'for the women each kua had its own sound' (Kooijman
1972:105). The favorite woods were kawa'u, na'u, and hualewa: 'The
kawa'u gave forth a pleasant sound when beaten and ... the na'u and
hualewa gave out a sharp sound like the voice of the Iele bird' (Kamakau,
quoted in Buck 1964:180). Hawaiian literature abounds with stories about
women who knew the sound of the each other's anvil (see Fornander 19181919:494; Brigham 1911:78; Pukui and Curtis 1951:162-167; Buck 1964:180;
Kooijman 1972:105). Hawaiian women also used a well-understood code to
signal or convey messages over a great distance (Brigham 1911:78; Buck
1964:180). Samoans also amused themselves at work by beating out various
rhythms and had signals by which they could warn one another of
approaching strangers and conduct a limited conversation (Kooijman
1972:214).
Mariner reports that the Tongan anvil was raised from the ground to
provide some spring from the blows of the mallet and make a more powerful
Tonga has two types of drums. The nafa, used in performances of song and dance, was
originally a rolled mat, giving it a unique mufflcd sound. The lafi is used like a village béH to
call people to meetings or prayer (Helu, pers. com., December 1983).
TO BE AT OR NOT TO BE AT
141
and melodious sound (Martin 1981, 2:365). Tongan women also chose
certain woods for their tonal qualities (for example, loi, Alphitonia zizyhoides; mohokoi, Canaga odorata; orahi, Santalum) and protect their anvils
from the elements to prevent cracking and loss of tone (Tamahori 1963:34).
'Alamoti Taumoepeau said that 'certain tutua were more valuable because
of the tone, they even had a special name, tutua loa. My mother had one.
She used it for beating tapa and also for lifting the funeral tapu. The sounds
from the tatua were never discordant, even if four of five women were
beating at the same time. The sound of the tutua was to create joy. The
tukipotu was special, it sounded more like the nafa. The lifting of the tapu
must be joyous' (pers. com., July 1988).
Ike
The tools of tutu - the mallet and anvil - were and still are categorized
under gender divisions of labor, being made exclusively by men or
schoolboys. Men can make, introducé, and maintain tools and technology
that are metaphorically associated with maleness in order to expedite or
facilitate the female art process. Whereas men maintain control and
management of these tools, women seem to have some decision in the wood
used. It is an interesting example of collaboration carried over from former
times when the chiefly classes controlled the production of ngatu and
implies some form of reciprocal exchange, mallets (i.e., the right to
command goods, secular power) perhaps for tapa (i.e., goods of secular and
social or even sacred value).
Mallets are devoid of any ornamentation. The preferred wood comes
from the toa (ironwood tree, Casuarina equisetifolid) (Tamahori 1963:35).
This hard wood was reserved for weapons in ancient times an the tree has
always been considered sacred, though the mallet is presently considered
to be a secular object.
'Nowadays, most mallets are made by schoolboys from cheap, green
wood that splits and softens, making the grooves less effective' ('Alamoti
Taumopeau, pers. com., July 1988). Though a link is difficult to prove, the
prevalence of cheap, poorly constructed mallets made by young boys
correlates with James's theory that the notion of Tongan manhood has
'undergone a radical change through such processes as the cessation of
warfare and a Western cultural devaluation of traditional fighting prowess,
the lessened need for skills associated with long ocean voyages by canoe
and the devaluation of gardening skills' (1983:241). The abandonment of
these male skills along with the decline of the professional male artisan class
correlates with Tongan men's lack of interest in, but not lack of maintenance
or control over, the male tools used by female artisans.
The Tongan ike shares a similar shape with the i'e kuku from ancient
Hawai'i. The Hawaiian beater, however, is distinguished by the extraordinary number and variety of grooved patterns chiselled in the mallets.
There, too, the making of beaters followed gender constructions and they
were made by men. However, in Hawaii the makers were called 'expert'
craftsmen and the women had to buy their beater from the experts' (Buck
142
1964:171). The distinction adhering to the makers is clearly evident in the
extent of artistry expended on the 'highly creative designs' carved into the
mallets, designs mistakenly attributed to the artistry of the women who use
the beaters (Cox with Davenport 1974:4-5).
Those Tongan women who spend many hours of their life beating tapa
seem to develop a rapport with their tools. The anvil has a special tone or
voice, but what about the mallet? 'Alamoti Taumoepeau replied that 'the
mallet was almost priceless in traditional times because they were so hard
to make. Normally the mallet would have been given to a young woman by
her mother or auntie and may even have come from several generations
before. Therefore most women would be reluctant to give up their ike. A
woman's love, 'ofa, for her ike is similar to a man's love for his name' (pers.
cora, July 1988).
While researching grave art, I learned that women who died while giving
birth to a healthy baby or while still nursing a child were buried with their
favorite mallet. The mallet is believed to fooi the spirit of the mother and
keep her from coming back for the baby. The love from the graveyard is
poisonous' (Posesi Fanua, pers. com., December 1983).
Epilogue
In the summer of 1988, I returned to Tonga to interview Houghland and
check the final version of this article. I could not find him and was told by
a number of people that he had given up his Polynesian Prints business and
after working in computers eventually returned to the State.16
Tapa cloth and its process of manufacture - whether by hand or machine
- still belong under the hegemony of Tongan woman. However, if the
acculturation of this process is to work, then the responsibility has to be
determined for maintaining and repairing this new crossgender (maleoriented) technology introduced by an outsider.
The machines that I inspected in 1988 were rusting. Where are they going
to get new parts and who has the initiative and money to make more
machines now that Houghland has left? (Sewing machines, though more
complex, have a built-in Euro-American support system, being maintained
by specific machine shops or male relatives who are mechanics.) This is not
women's work nor do these concerns appear to be under the direction of
the kautaha's leaders (Tonga, pers. corn., July 1988). Whether the woman
continue to beat or not may reside in their withdrawing from or working out
a solution to these basic issues of acculturation. The gender division of labor
found in the production of tapa is presently being enforced by women who
really do not want any form of male intrusion in the manufacture of tapa
'The women complained about him making so much money from the tapa cloth carcls. It
was Geoff's own idea, but the women didn't like it' (Tonga, pers. corn., July 1988). I do not
know Houghland's interpretation. Were the women resentful because he was making more
money on his machine than they were realizing in their endeavours? Or did the women get
annoyed because he was an outsider, and a male to boot, who had entered their arena of work
foreig^fr'ket:? 0 S u c c e s s f u l l y capitalize, at least for awhile, on its economie potential in a
143
cloth. Many of the men interviewed claim that they do not care about tapa
as a cultural form, but they do see its new potential for generating a cash
income.17
But these issues are ultimately linked to a deeper set of concerns marking
the culture's general attitude towards all forms of acculturation and the
nature of its impact on gender structures, status, and rank.
At issue are social perspectives on what is purposeful, secular, symbolic,
and culturally relevant and the attempt to reconcile these discordant views
in accordance with one's gender, rank, societal status, and attitudes towards
acculturation and forms of modernization.
Essential to any analysis of acculturation and change are the nonprocedural (nonfunctional) aspects of the process in question, here typified by the
cultural and symbolic meanings in producing tonal sounds. These sounds
have been interpreted as noise, signals, rhythmic music, joyous melodies,
and the heartbeat of Tonga. Such interpretations play a key part in marking
context. For example, the tutu process and its resultant sound factor has
underlying ritual aspects interpreted as sacred in association with its
funerary role. This role, with all its symbolic associations, becomes most
evident when the tutu process is threatened by a machine that produces
almost no noise at all. But, unlike its ritual role, tutu's noisy, repetitive act
is purposeful in the manufacture of tapa. And it is this purposefulness
divorced from its rhythmic sound that led Houghland to assume that the
beating process 'was a lot of loud noise that kept women from socializing'
and was therefore open to acculturation without loss of contextualization
(pers. com., July 1985).
Conclusion
In conclusion, studies on acculturation, change, and tourist arts tend to
overlook the social and symbolic actions embodied in the art-making
process. The introduction of a tapa-beating machine allowed me to analyze
in a single framework the various sociocultural actions that would be lost
or radically changed if the tutu process became acculturated. Placing an
emphasis on the process and medium over the object's formal qualities
contributes further to studies on gender concepts by yielding some novel
insights into the role art plays in reinforcing or sustaining a culture's
ideology on gender structure.
To think of the tutu process as being ripe for change because the mallets
are poorly made or the tiresome process seems to fulfill the singular purpose
of serving the end product has proven false. The controversy engendered
by the machine makes clear that the arts (as exemplified by the feta 'aki,
which is at this stage a purely secular object) can still have cultural,
symbolic, and even (sacred) ritualized elements embedded in the process
of manufacture.
17
The present enforcement by women of the gender division of labor in the arts is a sort of
reverse backlash. Husbands rarely share in the say of tapa-produced income as it belongs to
the wife and is often spent on her family (Limu Havea, pers. com., July 1988). Most women
interviewed wanted lo keep it that way.
144
It is evident, at least from an etic approach, why outsiders, uninformed
tourists, and some commoners of low social standing view the tutu process
as a mundane, secular activity. It is equally clear that it took someone who
was not a cultural relativist to introducé a tapa-beating machine, which in
turn gave some of the populace reason to vent already secularized attitudes.
From the position of the noble classes and the affluent, socially mobile
middle and lower classes, the machine could be viewed as an instrument of
acculturation that eliminates one way of marking a person's higher societal
standing: Beating is a technique that lacks prestige and social status, and the
process has not deviated from Mariner's description of 1806-1810 (Martin
1981, 2:365). Moreover, the process is still tied to gender conventions and
subject to social control. From a structuralist interpretation, beating (as
distinct from making the kupesi pattern board) not only marks commoners
as being very ordinary; it also, to some extent, promulgates the inequality
of the commoner in a monarchical state.
The tutu process is one example of how art-making ideologies align with
gender, societal, and rank-based divisions of labor to form a paradigm of an
ideal social construction. In cultures such as Tonga, acculturation and
change in the arts - and this includes the arts made for tourist consumption
- are allowed if sociocultural art-making ideologies are not disrupted.
However, the tensions between these ideologies lie at the heart of Tonga's
social system and are exemplified in the question that is yet to be fully
resolved: to beat or not to beat.
Acknowledgements
I want to thank Tupou Tonga, Papiloa Fotiaki, Lata Soakai, and Limu
Havea for their insights and friendship, without which this article would not
exist. I am indebted to Geoffery Houghland for generating this study by
inventing a tapa-beating machine and I thank him for answering my
questions. I regret that he was not in Tonga when I returned and was
therefore unavailable to add his remarks to this final draft. To the many
Tongans who have helped answer my questions, I can only express my
deepest gratitude for their generosity in allowing me to publish their
knowledge. I would like to acknowledge the assistance of my young
daughter, Samantha, who helped interview while learning to make tapa.
Aletta Biersack, Susan Smith, and Zachary Fisk contributed useful suggestions. These acknowledgements do not in any way bind the persons
mentioned to my interpretation, for it is only just that — an interpretation.
Fieldwork for this article was carried out in June and July 1985, April and
May 1987, and June and July 1988. I am indebted to the participants of the
University Research Expeditions Program from their sponsorship and
assistance in 1985, 1987, and 1988; as well as to the University of California,
San Diego, for a research grant in 1987. Two different talks based on
particular aspects of this study were made: one to the Annual Southern
California Colloquium on the Arts of Africa, Oceania, and the Native
Americans, California State University, Fullerton, April 1988, and the other
to the Pacific Arts Association Symposium, Honolulu, August 1989.
145
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some comparative implications. In: Sherry B. Ortner and H. Whitehead
(eds.), Sexual meanings, the cultural construction of gender and sexuality.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Posesi Fanua, Tupou
n.d.
A survey of tapa making in Tonga. Unpublishecl paper, in author's
possession.
148
Pukui, Mary Kawena, and Caroline Curtis
1951
The water of kane and other legends of the Hawaiian Islands. Honolulu:
Kamehameha Schools Press.
Rogers, Carth
1977
'The father's sister is black', a consideration of female rank and powers in
Tonga, fournal of the Polynesian Society 86:157-182.
Rosaldo, Michelle Zimbalist, and Louise Lamphere (eds.)
1974
Woman, culture, and society. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press.
Schneider, Jane, and Annette B. Weiner
1986
Cloth in human experience. Current Anthropology 27:178-183Tamahori, Maxine J.
1963
Cultural change in Tongan bark-cloth manufacture. Unpublished master's
thesis, Anthropology Department, University of Auckland.
Teilhet, Jehanne
1974
TAPA PRODUCTION IN TONGA. 16 mm color film, 20 min. La Jolla, Calif.:
Department of Visual Arts, Media Center, University of California at San
Diego.
1978
The equivocal role of women artists in non-literate cultures. Heresies,
a feministpublication on art and politics 4:96-102.
Teilhet-Fisk, Jehanne
1983
The role of women artists in Polynesia and Melanesia. In: Sidney M. Mead
and Bernie Kernot (eds.), Art and artists of Oceania and New Zealand,
45-56. Palmerston North: Dunmore Press.
1987
Gender, art, and female power in Tonga. Paper given at the College Art
Association, Boston, Mass., February 1987.
1990
Tongan grave art, indicators of social change. In: F. Allan Hanson and
Louise Hanson (eds.), Art and identity in Oceania, 222-243- Honolulu:
University of Hawaii Press.
Thompson, Robert Ferris
1974
African art in motion, icon and art. Berkeley: University of California
Press.
Weiner, Annette
1987
Women ofvalue, men of renown. Austin: University of Texas Press.
Weiner, Annette B. and Jane Schneider (eds.)
1989
Cloth and human experience. Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press.
West, Candace, and Don H. Zimmerman
1987
Doing gender. Gender and Society 1:125-151.
149
7
GATU VAKAVITI
THE GREAT BARKCLOTHS
OF SOUTHERN LAU, FIJI
Steven Hooper
Specialists in Pacific material culture studies owe a special debt to Simon
Kooijman. His research in 1973 on Moce in Southern Lau, Fiji, has produced
a monograph (1977), a film (1974) and several articles giving a very full
picture of the technical processes and social contexts of barkcloth production on the island. These works, the most comprehensive studies of any
single barkcloth producing area in the region, together with his authoritative
survey of barkcloth in Polynesia (1972), provide a necessary and firm
foundation for anyone wishing to study the subject. In addition, I can attest
to the very positive response to his work in Fiji, and particularly on Moce,
where he and his wife we re fondly remembered - and his book highly
regarded - during my own visits to the island in 1977 and 1978.1
Kabara, Moce and Affinal Relations
The research upon which this paper is based has mainly been conducted
on Kabara2, an island some thirty-five miles south-west of Moce, famous for
its wood products - bowls, canoes, digging sticks and house timbers in
1
I would like to acknowledge my personal appreciation of the assistance of Dr. Kooijman
while I was planning my fieldwork. In response to an enquiry about the feasibility of
undertaking research on woodcarving on Kabara' Island, he wrote back encouragingly about
the possibilities and of what he knew of Kabara. His advice, together with that of Professor
George Milner, led to my decision to make Kabara and Southern Lau the location for my studies.
1 cannot now imagine a more enjoyable or fulfilling place to live and work. It was with pleasure
that I met Dr. Kooijman for the first time in "Wellington, New Zealand, in February 1978.
2
My fieldwork in Fiji has been carried out over a period of c. thirty-four months during 19771979, 1980, 1983, 1986, 1987 and 1990 (c. twenty-seven in Lau). It is not possible for me
adequately to record here my appreciation for all the help and encouragement which I have
received from Lauans. A proper appreciation would occupy at least a page. In the context of
this short paper it would be invidious to name a few particular individuals; a fuller
acknowledgement appears in Hooper (1982) and will be given in a forthcoming monograph.
I am very grateful to the (former) Social Science Research Council, St John's College Cambridge,
the Smute Fund, the Emslie Horniman Fund and the Museum of Mankind for financial assistance
during the inrtial main period of research.
150
Figure 32. Map of the Fiji Islands. (Map by Steven Hooper:
particular (fig. 32). The people of the four villages of Kabara maintain close
links with those of Moce. Many are related directly by marriage. and it is
aiong these affinal pathways (wakolo ni veiwekanï) that goods and services
continue to bc exchanged. Patrilineal inheritance and virilocal residence is
the norm, and several women born on Kabara are married to Moce men and
live there, while sorae Moce women live with their husbands on Kabara.
GATU VAKAVITI THE GREAT BARKCLOTHS OF SOUTHERN LAU, FIJI
151
There were several formal expeditions between the two islands during my
stay on Kabara, besides much informal visiting. Some visits were between
clans related by marriage to conduct appropriate rituals and presentations,
others were visits by representatives of villages. A notable example was the
visit to Moce in August 1978 by a delegation from Naikeleyaga village on
Kabara, who took five very large wooden bowls for mixing yaqona (one
made by each of Naikeleyaga's five clans) as a veisiko (formal visit)
presentation to the whole of Moce on the occasion of a major work which
was underway - the cutting of a road across the centre of the island. The
essential element of veisiko is to take assistance to an affine who is engaged
in some major work, such as the building of a house or boat, or who is ill
or is visiting your vicinity but not staying with you. The presentation usually
takes the form of a feast and serves to remind the recipients of the important
bonds between the two parties, the implication being that this will not be
forgotten when the donor is in a similar position. Such a gift usually requires
only the courtesy of a few formal words of thanks or some yaqona or a
whale's tooth as its iqaravi (reciprocal gift). However, when veisiko takes
place between units larger than a household or clan, there is often an
expectation of direct exchange, particularly when there is a long-established
exchange relationship of the kind which exists between forested Kabara and
fertile Moce. In this case the presentation speech for the five bowls stressed
the importance of affinal ties, and hopes for their continuation, but there was
also direct reference to the need of Naikeleyaga village for rootcrop
plantings in order to be able to cater for the Methodist Church Annual
meeting which was to be held on Kabara the following year. This matter was
discussed by the Moce elders after the presentation, and two days later the
men of Moce had assembled one hundred and sixteen baskets of rootcrops
for the Kabarans to take away with them. Meanwhile, the Moce people had
not neglected to mention that their hurricane damage rebuilding programme
was slow because of a lack of timber; later that year about twenty Moce men
came to Naikeleyaga village for three months and, with local help, cut a
considerable amount of timber for their houses.
This preamble is intended to show, not a materialist or economie
interpretation of ritual, to which I would not subscribe, but that the
relationship between the two islands, in these contemporary times of
bulldozing roads and church conferences, is still very close and conducted
according to familiar procedures based on kinship. At the heart of this
relationship are women, who move on marriage and create the affinal
pathways to which I referred above. These pathways between intermarrying
clans are regularly used and reinforced at rituals associated with birth,
marriage, death and other life crises, and it is the products of women's
labour, principally barkcloth and mats, which are used as ceremonial beds,
seats, shrouds and wrappings on these occasions. In the great majority of
cases, female members of a Lauan household, even those based in Suva,
consider it necessary and desirable to have a supply of barkcloth and mats
in order to be able to participate in these regular rituals, especially those
associated with death, which may come suddenly, and for which there may
be no time for preparation. Accordingly, women have either to make
barkcloth and mats or have a means of obtaining them by request, exchange
152
or purchase.3 In Lau, most adult women know how to plait mats from dried
strips of pandanus leaves, although therc are sorne places, such as Komo,
Vulaga, Ogea and to a certain extent Kabara, where the women are regarded
as particularly expert.4 Mat-making requires no specialist equipment, but the
manufacture of barkcloth requires an anvil (dudud), beating mallets (iké),
stencils (draudraü) and design tablets (kupeti). This skill is not so widespread, although most islands in Lau have specialists and even the relatively
unskilled can produce sheets of raw material. On Kabara, as on nearby Moce
and Namuka, most women have, or have access to, barkcloth making
equipment and are skilied in its use, while there are acknowledged experts
whose particular skill in cutting stencils and applying them are recognised,
and who are knowledgeable about the types of cloth, their form, design and
appropriate uses. The same types of barkcloth are made on all three islands
using the same techniques; they are used locally and become widely
distributed throughout Lau and the rest of Fiji."'
Types of Barkcloth
Kooijman (1977:18) distinguishes three categories of barkcloth made on
Moce: masi kesa, gatu vakatoga and gatu vakaviti. Although a case could be
made for subdividing the category masi kesa (Hooper 1982:72), these three
categories nevertheless form an appropriate division on the basis of form
and production. Kooijman (1977) has given very extensive and detailed
descriptions of the manufacture of these types of cloth and of their
decoration, so further description need not detain us here, other than a brief
review of the three types.
Masi kesa means stencilled barkcloth; masi is the Fijian term for the paper
mulberry (Broussonetia papyrifera) and for the whitish cloth which is
prepared from its inner bark; kesa is the dye obtained from the root or bark
of the gadoa tree, which when mixed with soot or red earth (umea 3
European cloth, introduced in the 19th century, is classified with mats, barkcloth and
scented coconut oil as women's iyau (valuables). Cloth, either in small one fathom pieces or
in bolts, is regularly used on ritual occasions, but in Lau, and even in Suva, this has not eclipsed
or made redundant the indigenous materials. Cloth may be used if no mats or barkcloth are
available, or in addition to them, to, among other things, demonstrate the donors command
of a range of resources, 'traditional' and 'modern'.
4
F.wins (1982b) gives a recent detailed account of mat-making techniques on Gau, Lomaiviti,
which in most respects are the same as those used in Lau.
s
I will not discuss here the issue of the commercial sale of barkcloth. As Kooijman reports
(1977:100-108, 158-164), the sale of barkcloth has been an important feature in the recent
history of its manufacture on Moce, and the same applies to Namuka. These two islands, with
Vatulele, an island off the south-west coast of Viti Levu, have supplied, and continue to supply,
the bulk of barkcloth which is marketed commercially in Fiji. Kabara occasionally supplies
small barkcloths to commercial outlets in Suva, but various types of bowl, fly whisks and other
wood products provide the principal source of income from handicrafts. Nevertheless,
barkcloth continues to be made widely and regularly on Kabara, showing that income from the
tourist market is not necessary for the persistence of this craft. Significant indigenous factors
are at play, as I hope will become clear.
153
obtained from Komo ïsland) gives a black or reddish-brown colour respectively. In a technique unique to Fiji in the Pacific, this dye is then applied
to the plain cloth with stencils made from various types of leaf or, more
recently. X-ray film. These cloths currently include small c. 30 x 45 cm sheets
made for sale, c. 50 x 250 cm fringed cloths used as wraparound ritual
clothing and house decoration. and c. 180 x 250 cm cloths made as
ceremonial seats and beds.
Gatu is a word of Tongan origin meaning barkcloth, and vakatoga and
vakavüimean 'in the Tongan style' and 'in the Fijian style' respectively. Gatu
vakatogaztQ very large cloths assembled and decorated by teams of women.
Stencils are not used (except for widely-spaced triple-dot sea patterns), and
the designs are applied by rubbing reddish-brown kesa dye on the cloth over
design tablets and netting. These cloths are usually 3-4 metres wide and can
be between 5 and 60 metres in length, depending on the number of
transverse sections (Jalagd) present. The largest examples have 100 sections
and are termed lautejui. These are made for large-scale presentations and
are often carried onto the ceremonial ground and piled up to give maximum
effect to their bulk and length. They have other uses which need not detain
us here, but once presented they can be cut up into smaller sections, called
folo'otiand maukupu, which can then bc used as ceremonial seats, beds and
clothing.
Gatu vakavitiüTC the main focus of this paper. They are large cloths, 45 metres square, which are usually made byâ-few closely related women
who préparé the component plain sheets (which are much finer than those
Figure 33. Veitinia Senibau (centre) and Vakaloloma Mareca stencilling the gatu vakavüi
illustrated in plate 10; Udu village, Kabara, August 1977. (Photo by Steven Hooper)
154
for gatu vakatogd), paste them together to the required size and decorate
the finished sheet by a combination of stencilling and design-tablet rubbing
(fig- 33)- Their most public use is at weddings, when they are folded over
a line and hung across the centre of the house which is the location for the
main indoor rituals. In this way they appear rectangular to the viewer, with
only the front part visible to the audience (plate 10). They are also used as
burial shroucls and at mortuary rites, but not at other life crisis rituals.
Exceptions to this 'rule' are when they are used in association with those of
very high status, such as the Paramount Chief of Lau, Tui Nayau, or his
children.6 Aside from these uses for the paramount, the author has only seen
them used during wedding and mortuary rituals.
The impressive size and fine appearance of gatu vakaviti has attracted
the attention, but not the analysis, of a number of authors and commentators
since the miei nineteenth century. I believe that Dr. Kooijman was the first
to offer an analysis of their form (1980Ó0), where he states that the pattern
of the potuiloma (see figs. 34-38) is 'dominated by the principles of balance,
Plate 10. A gatu vakaviti of small/average size made in Udu village, Kabara, in August 1977
by Veitinia Senibau. with the assisiance of Vakaloloma Mareca, Mereseini Vuki, Mareca
Savu and Waü Naomi. Senibau is the 'small mother' (father's younger brother's wife) of
Gauna Sekope, who lived with them because his father had died. By the time he married
two years later this cloth had already been used for the wedding of another of Senibau's
relatives, having had the name changed. She made another cloth for Gauna.
(Photo by Steven Hooper)
6
Occasions of this kind were witnessed in May, 1980, when a gatu vakaviti was draped over
the litter on which Tui Nayau was carried ashore at Kabara, and at a ceremony in Rewa when
one was hung at the back of the temporary pavilion which housed the paramount chief.
Discussion of the equivance of the constant condition of the paramount chief, and of his or her
subjects when the focus of key rituals, cannot be entered into here.
155
Figure 34. Diagram showing one of the most common forms of gatu vakaviti in Southern
Lau (see plate 1). Variations inciude the incorporation of the yaca (name) panel within the
doka (ridge pole) panel (.see figure 4). the absence of the doka, and the continuation of
the potuisau panel over onto the back of the cloth, where it is referred to as the potuiyaco
(see figure 37). The thicker central horizontal line shows where the cloth is hung on a line
to give it a front and back. The design areas between the potuiloma and the two poluisau
are not named, but described in terms of the decoration applied to them, which may be
tasina (Tongan-style rubbed designs) or stencilled patterns such as qanivasua (clam shell see figures 33 and 35). kalokalo (stars - see figure 6) or other forms. Average overall
dimensions are 4-5 metres square.
/
symmetry, and alternation'. This he relates to the reciprocal exchanges of
barkcloth and food which are a major pari of wedding ceremonies. The
author woulcl like to take this opportunity, in honour of Dr. Kooijman, to
attempt to develop further an analysis of their form and significance.'
Gatu Vakaviti
Fergus Clunie (1986:193) makes the plausible suggestion, consistent with
other aspects of material culture and ritual, that gatu vakaviti are probably
a hybrid form, combining Tongan and Fijian styles and techniques, associated with increased Tongan involvement in the affairs of what is now eastern
and coastal Fiji since the early eighteenth century. There is evidence that
This paper is a preliminary foray into one aspect of barkcloth. A more detailed consideration
of the subject, as one of a number of items classified locally as iyau (valuables), is in
preparatïon. This will form part of a larger project involving the description, discussion and
analysis of Kabaran and Lauan culture in its contemporary. historical and regional contexCs.
1 56
these cloths date at least to the mid nineteenth century. Clunie (1986-. no.
221) illustrates an example collected by R. B. Lyth between 1839 and 1854,
the potuisau of which very closely resembles those made today. A similar
example is in the Smithsonian Institution, having been collected on Kabara
in 1899-1900 (Kooijman 1972: fig. 350). Illustrations of cloths in use are rare,
but Williams (1858: frontispiece) shows a painting by J. Glen Wilson, artist
aboard HMS Heraldin 1855, of Cakobau, Vunivalu of Bau, reclining on mats
bef ore a large decorated cloth hanging like a screen behind him. Constante
Gordon-Cumming (1881, II: opposite 60), resident in Fiji in 1875-6, provides
a painting entitled 'A chiefs kitchen', a crowded assemblage of genuine
types of object, arranged to fill the picture frame, showing at the back a large
cloth hanging across the upper part of the house, with someone sleeping on
a pillow below.
Hocart, resident in Lau between 1908 and 1911, cails gatu vakaviti 'a
noble thing (metha vakaturangd)' (1929:136), and gives a brief description
of its manufacture. He states that on Lakeba stencilling work was done
almost exclusively in Waciwaci village, and he illustrates (1929: plate IV) a
section of & potuisau which again is very similar to contemporary examples.
Laura Thompson, who worked in Lau in 1933-4, gives a brief description of
Fijian 'sheet tapa', and offers the view that a study of it 'would probably yield
valuable results' (1940:198). However, neither of these researchers appear
to have published any first-hand accounts of the use of this cloth, nor
attempted any analysis. Roth (1973: plate VIII) and Ewins (1982a:ll)
illustrate gatu being made on Vatulele Island in 1949 and 1980 respeetively.
Although this is a long way from Lau, the overall form is similar and shows
that manufacture was by no means restricted to Lau. Troxler (1971)
illustrates several gatu, but the text is a mixture of description and
uncredited quotations from other sources, such as Hocart (pages 49-50 have
passages virtually verbatim from Hocart, 1929:136). Indeed, until Kooijman's studies, there are practically no good accounts of how, when and why
gatu vakaviti were used. In all, I have seen about twenty gatu vakaviti in
Lau, either being made or used, or just shown to me and the previous use
discussed. I will now give several examples of the use of gatu which I
witnessed, followed by some observations of the makers and users.
In January 1978 the wedding took place between Aminiasi Livi and
Takavoli Vere on Namuka Island. One of the main stages of a Lauan wedding
is the itevutevu, the laying down of mats and cloth in the groom's house (or
the headquarters of the groom's side if the couple are not going to reside
in the village). Women from the groom's (Livi's) side were based in the
house8, and women from the bride's (Taka's) side came to the house bearing
rolls of mats and cloth and a wooden bed frame (carried by men of the
bride's side). They entered by the lower door and proceeded to cover the
floor with decorated mats, put up a gatu vakaviti with Taka's name on it
across the upper part of the room in front of the partition, and erect the bed
frame. European-style sheets, pillows and cotton mosquito nets were also
8
Most houses in Southern Lau still take the form of a large single room, with the upper third
screened off by a European cLoth curtain to separate the private from the public area.
Increasingly, this curtain is being replaced by a solid partition, which was the case in this house
on Namuka.
157
Figure 35- Female relatives of Luisa Tagi arrange the itevutevu Oaying down of mats and
cloth) for her marriage to Nikotimo Saini at Tokalau village, Kabara, October 1978. The
gatu vakaviti being hung across the top of the house was made by her mother and sisters
in Udu village, Kabara. (Photo by Steven Hooper)
brought and placed on the bed or hung up. The coloured yarn borders of
the mats made one continuous carpet, leading up to a ikotokoto (bed) of fine
mats and small sheets of barkcloth just in front of the gatu. When all was
laid out to the women's satisfaction. including a stunning mat with thirty
coloured borders hanging across in front of the lower part of the gatu, the
groorrrs women brought their itevutevu. They proceeded to place similar
(though slightly fewer, as was appropriate) mats on the floor and to hang
up a gatu vakaviti with Livi's name on it across the lower part of the house
just in front of the entrance. Anyone in the house, and all the bed-related
materials, were literally enclosed between these two large screens. Once all
was arranged, the couple were brought to the house dressed in barkcloth
clothing and glistening with scented coconut oil for the kana vata (eating
together) ritual. They were seated on the bed' in front of the gatu, and each
was ritually fed by a woman of the opposite side, fish to the groom and pork
to the bride. After the kana vata was completed, the serious decorum of the
occasion was completely broken when many of the women launched into
outrageous disco-styie dancing with much shrieking and collisions between
cross-cousins (veitavaleni), who have institutionalised joking relationships.
This episode was explained in terms of the women of both sides expressing
their joy at the successful conclusion of the mam parts of the wedding. That
night the couple slept in the house, on the special 'bed' and under the gatu.
After four nights the itevutevu mats and gatu were distributed amongst the
I5H
Figure 36. Female relalives of Nïkotimo Saini arrange his itevutevu, including a gatu
vakaviti made by Penina and other women on Moce. Saini was a schoolmaster from Ogea,
posted to Tokalau school on Kabara. Thi.s cloth had been part of the morluary presentations for the death of Penina's father on Ogea, and had borne his name. It was distributed
to relatives of Saini, who altered the name and used it for his wedding, where it was hung
along one side of the house. Both gatu used at this wedding were extremely finely
stencilled. The lady in the foreground is fixing the string for a cotton mosquito net. lower
left. Tokalau village, Kabara, October 1978. (Photo by Steven Hooper)
women of both sides, the couple keeping a good proportion, including hoth
gatu vakaviti.
Another wedding was witnessed at Tokalau village, Kabara in October
1978. On thi.s occasion the groom, Nikotimo Saini, was from Ogea, but was
a schoolmaster stationed at Tokalau school. His bride w-as Luisa Tagi from
Udu village. Relatives from Ogea and Udu attencled to support their
representatives at the wedding and to carry out the appropriate rituals. The
general sequence of events corresponded to that of the Namuka wedding
described above. First the bride's women decked the wedding house with
their itevutevu, hanging a large gatu hearing the bride's name across the top
of the house above and behind the main 'bed' (fig. 35). Before this was
finished, the groom's women laid their itevutevu on top of that of the bride,
ancl also hung a gatu hearing his name along the right side of the house
(viewed from the 'top', fig. 36). The kana vata then took place, folio wed by
general mayhem between cross-cousins. The couple slept in the house on
the special "bed' before moving into Saini's house in the school grounds.
They kept their gatu when both itevutevu were distributed. One other
wedding was witnessed on Kabara and another in Tubou, Lakeba. The
pattern was the same. The position of the groom's gatu varied slightly,
depending on the circumstances and the shape of the house, but the bride's
159
was on all occasions across the top.9 I also received a number of eye-witness
accounts of recent weddings from principal participants, and saw and
documented the gatu which had been used.
What are we to make of the appearance of gatu vakaviti at weddings? Let
us first consider the views of women with whom gatu were discussed. The
overwhelming emphasis was on the necessity or desirability of having a gatu
for a wedding in order to demonstrate skill, industriousness and respect. The
female relatives of a bride or groom were concerned that everything should
be done properly, and by properly meant according to well-established
patterns. Salote, the sister of Tui Namuka, who had been in charge of making
the gatu for Taka's wedding, stated, 'we are just following the way of doing
things of our forebears from the old days. The gatu vakaviti is a very
important (heavy) thing. We see it, and we are following it. We don't know
its meaning.' (na kena ivalavalaga mai na qase e mada keimami sa muria
tikoga mai. Sa dua na ka bibi saraga na gatu vakaviti. Keimami sa raicaga,
sa vakamurimuri tu. Keimami sega ni kila ona ibalebalè). She also went on
to say that if no gatu was provided, people would make comments that the
women responsible were vakaloloma (to be pitied, feeble). To be considered vakaloloma is something which all Lauans wish to avoid. Malicious
criticism (kakase) in small communities can be very hard to bear, and it is
the endeavour of most to be considered industrious and respectful. For
women, in the context of Lauan life, this involves active participation in life
crisis rituals and exchanges. These activities are intimately bound up with
notions of pride, honour, respect, duty and what is expected of a responsible mother or senior woman in a household.10
A lady on Ono said that if there was no gatu at a wedding, 'it was like
being irreverent, awkwardly indolent' (e vaka e beca, e sakasaka). A
Lakeban woman married to a Kabaran explained that the big gatu and multibordered mats were only used at weddings and funerals, and had no
practical use. They were a lot of work, but nevertheless were necessary to
avoid shame (madua). 'It is the bride's side's task to provide most mats, and
if there was a poor showing, then it might be used against her in her
9
Kooijman mentions the use of only one gatu at the wedding which he attended on Moce
in 1973 (1977:88-95). This bore the name of the groom and was hung across the top of the
house. I am not able to account for this in the light ofmyown data. It is possible that the bride's
was completely obscured by the groom's (highly unlikely in view of Kooijman's attention to
detail) or that the bride's side, for some reason, did not provide a gatu, and that the groom's
was therefore hung across the top. It is also possible, though the subject for another paper, that
the use of two gatu is comparatively recent. Indeed gatu may have undergone what I describe
for whale's teeth (tabua) as a process of democratisation (Hooper 1982:87), whereby an
increase in supply allows everyone potentially to participate in rituals which formerly were the
privilege of chiefs, without the object involved (tabua or gatu) having its symbolic significance
diminished. Nevertheless, if only onegfltewas to be used, it would more likely be that provided
by the bride's side.
10
A striking aspect of contemporary gatu vakaviti is the presence of the name of the bride or
groom across the top of the potuiloma. This is obviously a result of literacy in the 19th century,
when whale's teeth, clubs and other objects also received inscriptions. In the case of gatu
vakaviti this has now become a formal part of their design, and signals to the viewer that the
female relatives of the named person have been diligent. Other implications cannot be pursued
here.
160
husband's household. If a dispute arose, she might be told, "who are you
to spcak? You only brought a few mats and iyau (valuables) with you. We
are supporting you/' Comments can be very sharp.' Nevertheless, in most
discussïons the emphasis was on respect and pride, not on fear and shame.
These practical, everyday explanations for gatu, linked to notions of
women's identity, self-worth, honour and relative status, are a very important aspect of their meaning and of their continued procluction and use.
However, they do not help explain the particular form oï gatu vakaviti, since
any labour- and skill-intensive product would be satisfactory if making a
goocl show and avoiding criticism were the only requirements. Discussions
with women, even specialist barkcloth makers, usually returned to the kind
of statement made by Salote of Namuka - that this is how our forebears have
shown us to do things, so this is how we do them; it is our Lauan/Fijian way;
your way is different. These answers are perfectly reasonable, especially in
a culture with a strong awareness of continuity of practice and where respect
for seniors, elders and ancestors remains strong.
Nevertheless, symbols are very often polyvalent, and another comment,
by Wati Naomi of Udu village, Kabara, in August 1977 led me to consider
additional levels of meaning, relating tothe specific form and design of gatu.
During work on Gauna Sekope's gatu (fig. 33) she explained that at a
wedding the cloth faced down the house so thatthe assembled people could
see its beauty and witness the work which had been clone. She went on te
say that on the wedding night the couple would sleep inside it, like in a tent.
Figurc 37. Ofia Bale of Naikeleyaga village, Kabara, surveys a gatu vakaviti made for her
by a female relative, Melcana. on Namuka, October "197". It was senl complete except for
the tasina rubbed designs in the open areas, which were done by Ofia and her mother
Luisa Paea. Ofia had no marriage in prospect, but she eventually married a man on Moce
in 1984. The potuisau go all the way down the back and the designs between them and
the potuüoma are kalokalo (stars). (Photo by Steven Hooper)
161
Plate 11. Female relatives of the late Pu (Granny) Rere put oiied kilikili stones on her grave
in red and black triangular patterns framed by white. A post made of vetau wood can be
seen at each end of the grave; these were later linked by a line suspending a sheet of masi
tutuki (a type of masi kesa). Below the stones is a solofua barkcloth shaped like a miniature gatu vukauiti with two potuisau panels and a small central design. Below this are
decorated mats. Udu village, Kabara, November 1977. (Photo by Steven Hooper)
I had just learnt that the long transverse design panel across the top of
the front of the cloth was called the doka, a term used for the ridge-pole of
a house. These pieces of evidence concerning house symbolism were
strengthened during the decoration of the grave of Pu Rere in November
1977 (plate 11), when the species of wood for the grave posts was called
vetau, which is the name of the main design clown the centre of the potuisau
(also called vetau levu - big vetau).11 Further evïclence of gatu vakavitts
house-like attributes is furnished by the fact that an alternative name for
them is taunamu (mosquito curtain/excluder). This term is not so commonly used now because it also refers to cotton mosquito nets which are widely
available, but it was stated that formerly the gatu acted as a screen against
the pestilential insects, and that people slept inside to protect themselves.
However. it must be stated here that no explicit description or analysis of
gatu as a symbolic house was given to me. When this was proposed by me
in discussion, people agreed that this was plausible. and commented that
'the people in the old days were wise/clever' (o tra a qase e mada, era a
vukü), but it was not the way in which Lauans chose to explain the 'meaning'
11
A more alert reading of Hocart (1929) would have spotted ihis associalion with the tree
species, since he makes this observation in the caption to plate IV. With regard to the question
of the individual names of the stencil design elements in gatu, it can be said that there are a
variety of names, some with explicit, others with obscure meanings. I am not competent at this
stage to consider this topic further.
162
of gatu.12 lts function as a tent was now incidental; the important aspect was
its role in celebratory display and exchange. Yet, there can be no doubt that
the form of gatu is of great significance. Women take great care to adhere
to the 'traditional' form and designs, based on a notion that the elders/
ancestors knew what they were doing, and that it is incumbent on
responsible descendants to continue these cultural enterprises, even if the
details of 'meaning' are now unclear.
In order to examine the validity of the hypothesis that one interpretation
of gatu vakaviti is that they are symbolic houses, let us now consider why
this might be a logical and appropriate possibility. Houses in Lau are built
by men.13 They are furnished with mats and cloth, made by women. It might
be thought that the one is permanent while the other is temporary, but in
reality (with hurricanes and fires) both houses and soft materials are
ephemeral. What is permanent is the yavu, the house foundation, often
walled about with stones, the place where the ancestors (JJU) resided. The
yavu is important and named, the house on top is secondary. The house and
its furnishings, the contributions of male and female labour respectively to
the establishment of a household, are subject to the same processes of
creation and decay as human beings, yet, also like humans, they have
protective functions which ensure the continuation of life. Procreative
activities ideally follow the establishment of a new household at marriage,
and the crucial role of women throughout the life of an individual is marked
at life crises with wrapping, enclosing and separating by means of cloth and
mats. If gatu vakaviti are symbolic houses, the most appropriate time for
their deployment would be at weddings, which we find to be the case, when
a new household is being established formally, with all that that implies in
terms of procreative potential. They could be considered a statement by the
female relatives of the couple of the importance of the protecting and
nurturing aspects of both houses and women.
But let us now turn to the other main occasion for the use of gatu mortuary rituals - to see if some consistency of interpretation can be
maintained. In what way are graves, houses and barkcloths connected? It is
said that formerly, in some parts of Fiji, burials took place in house
foundations, so that the yavu becomes the grave. However, contemporary
evidence is our concern here. First, let us consider gatu vakaviti and graves.
Gatu are used as burial shrouds around the corpse or around the casket.
Figure 38 shows the casket of Pu Rere resting on the potuiloma of a gatu.
The potuiloma14, with the potuisau, are the key named elements of a gatu.
12
This goes to the heart of the unresolved issue concerning the nature and meaning of symbols
and how and if they communicate, although this topic cannot detain us here, where we are
more concerned for the present with an ethnographic example.
13
I have seen a woman plait coconut leaf thatch for a house on Kabara, just as I have seen
men help tend mast plants and bring them from the gardens. Nevertheless, in a classificatory
sense, housebuilding and barkcloth making are considered male and female activities
respectively.
14
Professor George Milner has drawn to my attention the fact that in Samoan the word potu
means room, as in place where some activity takes place. This certainly has a resonance with
the argument being proposed here, although its implications require further thought.
163
Figure 38. The burial of Pu Rere, Udu village. Kabara, November 1977 (see also plate 11).
The casket, which has masi kesa and a flowered cross on top, rests on the potuiloma of a
gatu vakavitl and two large mats. Il was lowered into ihe grave and wrapped in these
materials. The gatu was made by Keieira of Moce some twenty years previously and had
been used at the wedding of onc of Pu Rcre's grand-daughters. (Photo by Steven Hooper)
Potuiloma were described to me as the most important part of the gatu, and
they are characterised by red and black triangular designs on a white
ground. These designs reappear in another form during the final mortuary
rites, the placing of oiled red, white and black stones (vatu kilikili) on top
of the grave, which again is the work of women (see plate 11 and fig. 39)That these triangular designs are significant cannot be doubted, though an
explicit analysis of them will not be attempted here. They are an old design
scheme, and possibly one of Tongan origin, since fine baskets woven to this
design scheme are documented to Captain Cook's visits to Tonga in the
1770s (see Kaeppler 1978:218-221). Another appearance of this schema is in
the red and black coconut husk fibre bindings of the timbers of high status
houses (including churches). These are done by men, which should make
the researcher wary of oversimplistic male/female analytical constructs.
To return to graves and houses, although recognisable houses were not
seen over graves in Lau. they were seen in Suva cemeteries (covered in
gatu), and they were certainly in evidence in Tonga during Cook:s third
voyage visit in 1777. when Webber drew a fa'itoka (Joppien and Smith
1988:320-323) although Teilhet-Fisk (1990) shows that Tongan graves have
developed in a variety of ways. Agate, artist on the Wilkes expedition, drew
elaborate house graves at Macuata, Vanua Levu, in 1840 (Wilkes 1845, III:
opposite 231), and a very dramatic and recent example of a grave house in
eastern Fiji is provided by the mausoleum at Somosomo for Tui Cakau, Ratu
164
Figure 39. Female relatives of Latai arrange oiled red, black and white scones (kilikilï) on
his grave. They roughly follow the triangular patterns of the solofua barkcloch below,
which rests on a maukupu seciion of gatu vahatoga and a fine mat with woollen borders
(yaba vakabali). Naikeleyaga village, Kabara, October 1977. (Photo by Steven Hooper)
Penaïa Ganilau, who diecl in December 1993. Editions of the Fiji Times for
late December 1993 and early januarv 1994 provide numerous illustrations
of the use of large gatu during the obsequies, including examples placed
under, over and behind the casket during the lying-in-state in Suva and over
the truck which carrïed the casket to the wharf for transfer to Somosomo.
The mausoleum, shaped like a house, was completely covered by an
enormous gatu, and the inside was enürely lined with gatu and multibordered mats.
I would like to end this sketchy and exploratory paper, which has raised
more questions than it has provided answers, with some general reflections
on barkcloth and the role of women in Lauan culture. Marshall Sahlins, the
principal theorist in this area, has written of barkcloth as 'the pre-eminently
feminine valuable' and has stressed its symbolic role in the 'capturc' of the
paramount chief/god at installation rituals (1981:117-119). There is no doubt
that Lauan women identify closely with the cloth and mat products of their
labour, which are described as 'our valuables' (a weimami iyaü). Barkcloth
has several aspects. The explicit social, competitive, honour/shame aspect
has been reviewed above, but it is also used to separate, protect and enclose
those people who are the focus of rituals, be they chiefs, newborns, newlyweds or corpses. By the mediation of women, and of their products, human
life is brought into the world, nurturecl, protected and taken out of the
world. The mediation of women ancl their products also protects and
separates those who are not in a sanctified state from those who are (chiefs
165
or those undergoing ritual). Critical in this regard is the disposal of the dead.
There is explicit apprehension concerning the spirits of the dead, especially
the recent dead, who are frequently reported as being seen around the
village at night soon after death. The ritually appropriate intervention of
women and their products, notably during the kilikili rite (which is
described as serving to 'press down' (bikabika) the deceased), acts as a
means of controlling the potentially disruptive influences of the recently
deceased. Control is not too strong a word, since, as Sahlins explains (ibid.),
in the rituals of installation the outsider paramount chief is captured,
ensnared and his productive/destructive potential ultimately controlled
through the agency of women and their products, notably the barkcloth with
which the chief's head and arms are bound during the ceremonies. All this
may seem a long way from the concerns of women at contemporary Lauan
weddings that they not be regarded as vakaloloma (pitiable), and from the
day-to-day business of making mats and cloth and running a household.
However, it is in the nature of symbols to be tenacious and to have deep as
well as surface meanings. I hope these preliminary investigations have been
in some small way successful in revealing some of the 'wisdom of the
ancestors' (nodra vuku o tra na qase e madd), and worthy of Simon
Kooijman's pioneering work.
References cited
Clunie, Fergus
1986
Yalo i Viti, shades ofViti, a Fiji Museum catalogue. Suva.
Ewins, Rod
1982a Fijian artefacts, the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery Collection.
Hobart.
1982b Mat-weaving in Gau, Fiji. Suva.
;
Gordon-Cumming, Constance Frederica
1881
At home in Fiji. 2 vols. Edinburgh.
">
Hocart, A.M.
1929
Lau Islands, Fiji. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 62. Honolulu.
Hooper, Steven (see also: Phelps)
1982
AstudyofvaluablesinthechiefdomofLau,
University of Cambridge.
Fiji. Unpubfished Ph.D. thesis,
Joppien, Rudiger and Bernard Smith
1988
The art of'Captain Cook's voyages. Vol. 3, The voyage of the Resolution and
Discovery 1776-1780. New Haven.
1978
'Artificial Curiosities', being an exposition ofnative manufactures collected on the three Pacific voyages of Captain James Cook. R. N. Bernice P.
Bishop Museum Special Publcation 65. Honolulu.
166
Kooijman, Simon
1972
Tapa in Polynesia. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 234. Honolulu.
1974
1977
1980
TAPA, LIFE AND WORK ON A SOUTH SEA ISLAND (MOCE). Cine film,
16 mm, 23 minutes. Leiden.
Ceremonial exchange and art on Moce Island (Fiji), a functional interpretation of a tapa design. Bijdragen 136.41-51.
Phelps, Steven (now: Hooper, Steven)
1976
Art and artefacts of the Pacific, Africa and the Americas, the James Hooper
Collection. London.
Roth, George Kingsley
1973
Fijian way oflife. 2nd edition (lst edition published 1853), Melbourne.
Sahlins, Marshall
1981
The Stranger-King, or Dumezil among the Fijians. Journal of Pacific
History 26:107-32.
Teilhet-Fisk, Jehanne
1990
Tongan grave art. In: Allan Hanson and Louise Hanson (eds.), Art and
identity in Oceania. Honolulu. Pp. 222-243.
Thompson, Laura
1940
Southern Lau, Fiji, an ethnography. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin
162. Honolulu.
Troxler, Gale Scott
1971
Fijian masi, a traditional art form. Greensboro.
Wilkes, Charles
1845
Narrative of the United States Exploring Expedition during the years 1838,
1839, 1840, 1841, 1842. 5 vols. Philadelphia. (Vol. 3 reprinted 1985 by Fiji
Museum)
Williams, Thomas
1858
Fiji and the Fijians. Vol. 1, The islands and their inhahitants. London.
(Reprinted 1985 by Fiji Museum)
167
8
NOTES ON THE ART OF BARKCLOTH
PAINTING IN THE
JAYAPURA AREA, IRIAN JAYA, INDONESIA
Jac. Hoogerbrugge
I
During the period 1956-1963, when stationed in Hollandia (now Jayapura) as a shipping-' agent, I visited Lake Sentani many times, making
watercolour paintings of the picturesque lake villages situated at the foot of
the mighty Cyclops Mountains, at the same time taking notes on local myths
and ornamental art.
Thus a friendly relationship developed with the Sentani artists, which
over the years enabled me to bring together a collection of art objects that
was fairly representative of the art of the area - except for the fact that it did
not contain a good specimen of the famous barkcloth paintings. This
unfortunate gap was not caused by lack of attention on my part; on the
contrary, in 1960-1961 I had shown Kooijman's book 'The Art of Lake
Sentani', with photographs of eight selected barkcloth paintings (at the time
still referred to as 'loincloths') in most of the Sentani villages, inviting the
villagers to find me a man capable of making a maro smo, as these paintings
are called, of comparable quality, and in their own style. Although I had
promised attractive rewards, the response was slow, the common excuse
being that the preparation of the cloth was a woman's affair. Collection of
the required bark also took a great deal of time, I was told, because the trees
are widely scattered in the jungle. Eventually, four or five paintings were
produced which, regrettably, turned out to be of disappointing quality. They
looked like awkward drawings, depicting nothing but a simple Sentani
ornamentation, and showed no tracé of creative imagination. They reminded me of the pieces of decorated barkcloth which, occasionally, I had seen
for sale at the yearly Whitsun Fair organized by the Protestant Churches, at
Yoka-village, Sentani. Thus at my departure in 1963, I had come to the
conclusion that the art of barkcloth painting had died out, not surprisingly
perhaps, because even in pre-war times good-quality paintings were scarce.
II
16S
gramme), the work requiring that I stay in Jayapura for about three weeks
of each year (1969-1974). This enabled me to engage in follow-up research
which this time, on the advice of Kamma, also included the coastal village
of Nafri.
Indeed, it was in this (Sentani-relatecl) village that in 1971, after a number
of introductory visits, I made the acquaintance of Hanuebi and Sriano. two
aged men said to be capable, old-style maro painters. This claim proved
none too excessive, and during the next two years these two men produced
for me a series of fascinating barkcloth paintings, picturing 'the various
spirits that live in our village'. Plates 12 and 13 document their artistry and
prove that sometimes contemporary Sentani maro smo can be put on a par
with the best of the pre-war Sentani paintings.
Plate 12 portrays 'Sernrai Ondoforo', Hanuebi told me: that is, 'Chief
Spirit', adding that he was not allowed to state the spirit's proper name
aloud. He agreed, however, that the local village teacher write the name in
my sketch book and so I learned that his proper name was 'Serhauw'. Then,
of his own accord, Hanuebi, pointing to the fancy headdress, said that it
contained many feathers of the bird of paradise and resembled the headgear
used by the villagers themselves at the great feasts of the past. The small
Plate 12. Maro smo. 63 x 80 cm, made by Hanuebi, Nafri village, Yotefa Bay, 1971. (Photo
by Ben Grishaaver)
NOTES ON THE ART OF BARKCLOTH PAINTING
169
Platc 13. Maro smo, 72 x % cm, made by Sriano, NafrJ village, Yotefa Bay, 1972. (Photo by
Ben Grishaaver)
round spots around the body were the tiny Ughts which, at night, di.selo.se
the presence of the spirits, he added.
Plate 13 pictures two 'Semrai' with their two spirit children, dancing at
one of their spirit feasts, Sriano explaincd. The ornamentation surrounding
the figures was called iro. which means 'eyes'. This was all he ventured to
say about his painting.
For further particulars I refer the reader to 'The Art of Northwest New
Guinea', edited by Greub (1992). This book contains an essay on the art of
the Sentani area written by Simon Kooijman, to which was added a special
chapter on the art of maro painting. The closing sentence of the relevant
chapter reads :
'.. by 1976 both men had died. l)id the spirits of the sea and the bush
die with them, and were Nyaro Hanuebi and Sibo Sriano the last of
the old-style maro painters?' (Hoogerbrugge 1992:139)
170
III
This was in fact not so, as T discovered almost 20 years later in 1993 and
1994, when I visited Jayapura again. There, to my surprise, I found a total
of some 20 contemporary maro smo, several of high quality, others rather
mediocre, in the collections of the University Museum and the new State
Museum (Museum Negeri Irian Jaya), built around 1982 and situated next to
the Expo-Grounds at Waena village, Sentani. About half of the paintings
clearly originated from Lake Sentani villages. One of them was of really
striking quality and compared well with the best ones of the pre-war period,
as fig. 40 may confirm. Regrettably, no particulars could be traced as to the
exact village of origin. Fortunately, a second piece of equally, superb quality
was traced and documented on the spot (fig. 41). Thanks to the assistance
received from Ben Mitaart (Department of small-scale Industries), former
colleague on the Asmat Art Project, I could meet with Uwus Onggé, one of
today's most experienced maro painters. Fig. 41 shows him in front of his
house in the village of Harapan. just off the mainroad to Sentani. He had
moved to this mainland village a couple of years ago because his native
island of Asei had become too crowded.
He told me that he had made the maro smo about a year before (1993)
and added that he had not made one since, because new gardens had to be
cleared first. It pictured, he said, 'an evil spirit in his spirit world', and added.
pointing towards the spiral ornamentation at the foot, 'above the clouds'. He
also mentioned that he was experiencing problems in getting new barkcloth
material and that, for that reason. he had recently made a three-day trip
Figure 40. Maro smo, c. 60 x 120 cm, anonymous, Lake Sentani, c. 1993.
('Photo byjac. Hoogerbrugge)
171
L72
through the jungle, hunting for young seedlings of the (scarce) barkclothtree. He had collected four pieces which were now doing well in the clearing
behind his house, and which would supply the first pieces of bark in about
three years' time.'
The other half of the paintings featured animals, such as lizards, snakes
and turtles, set against a background with white dots, in a stylc quite
different from the Sentani and unfamiliar to me. Also the cloth was thicker
and more grayish in colour. These paintings had arrived in the Museum in
early 1994. Fig. 42 shows a magnificent example from this group. I learned,
to my amazement, that they originate in villages situated on the Web River,
in the mountainous Yafi - Senggi area, some 120 kiiometres south of
Jayapura (as the crow flies). This seems to be quite a ncw phenomenon,
which is all the more surprising because the area, to my knowledge, has no
previous record of making barkcloth, let alone of inaking barkcloth
paintings. Regrettably no further informatïon was available.
In this context I recall that Galis, visiting the area in 1956, documented
the existence of 'sickness shields', paintings made on the leaf sheath of the
sago tree (or on 'the flat, pressed, base [prolportions of sago palmleaf
sterns'2). They were made under supervision of the meclicine men and
depicted the 'spirit animals' that had brought sickness to the village.
After having been used at the ceremonial dance (see fig. 43, made in 1970
at Ubrub village, Yafi area), the shields were fastened to the walls of one of
the houscs in the village, probably to ward off further dangerous attacks
from the sickness spirits. In 1956 H. Frankenmolen, Franciscan missionary
Figure 44. After the ceremonial dance the 'sickness shields' are hung from the wall of one
of the houses, Amgotro, Yafi area, 1956. (Photo by H. Fmnkenmolen)
1
Photographs of these young, fast-growing maro trees indicate that they probably belong to
the genus Macaranga (Euphorbiae); the maro smo Trom Nafri, mentioned earlier, were
produced from the bark of the Anüaris Toxicaria (Moracae). Personal communication W. Vink.
Rijksherbarium, Leiden.
2
Sec Kaufmann (1979:312).
173
Plate 14. 'Sickness shield', Yafi area,
1956. (Photo by Ben Grishaaver)
Figure 45. Cave painting near a village
east of Amgotro. Yafi arca. 1957.
(Photo by H. Franken molen)
174
PACIFIC MATERI AL CULTURE
stationed at Amgotro (Yafi area), made a photograph of a decorated house
of this kind. With the various paintings hung from the wall, the house seems
a real art gallery: see fig. 44.
In 1956 I obtained several 'sickness-shields' from Frankenmolen. One is
reproduced here: see plate 14. The similarity between the design of the
barkcloth painting of 1994 (fig. 42) and that of the leaf-sheath painting of
1956 (plate 14) is truly amazing.
It is also important to mention that both Galis and Frankenmolen have
recorded the existence, in the Yafi area, of cave paintings. Fig. 45, taken by
Frankenmolen in 1957, shows part of a decorated wall inside a cave a few
miles east of Amgotro. Thus it appears that the area has a long tradition with
regard to painting, and it is intriguing to see that, all of a sudden in 19931994, barkcloth paintings, thus far unknown to exist in the area, appeared
in Jayapura. The question as to what actually caused this development has
to remain unanswered for the time being.
IV
As to the arts and crafts production on Lake Sentani I talked with Herman
Ohei, a well-known woodcarver on Asei island. He explained that, during
recent years Sentani objects, maro smo included, had been receiving more
attention than before because the two Museums, both situated close to
Sentani, were attracting more visitors from both home and abroad. Consequently a small but steady demand had developed for good-quality art
objects. It was in this connection, Ohei said, that he had changed from the
carving of decorated bowls for the villagers to the carving of small Sentani
statuettes for the Museum shop. Naturally the increased contact with visitors
and tourists has also led to the development of a small-scale cottage
industry, producing objects such as mini-sized drums decorated in gaudy
colours, and small pieces of decorated barkcloth ranging from postcardsized up to a square foot.
I saw some 40 pieces of such barkcloth souvenirs on Asei island, and
found that occasionally they are rather attractive. The designs, carefully
stylized and scaled-down Sentani motifs, are copied from old Sentani
objects, or photographs thereof. They are made by young men who, for the
postcard-sized objects, use stencils or blocks to produce the pattern.
Afterwards the white and red colours are painted in by hand. Later I learned
that a Protestant Church Organisation active in the area, in cooperation with
a non-profit organisation in Holland, is offering help with the marketing of
these small-sized barkcloth prints and paintings.
Later, in the State-Museum at Waena, I learned that the yearly Arts and
Crafts Fair held at the Expo-Grounds has also had a stimulating effect,
because the feasts have confronted the Sentani people with the arts and
crafts from the other regions of Irian Jaya. Although this had caused some
confusion and proliferation of style elements, the Fairs had also brought
about a greater awareness of the value of their own Sentani culture.
175
In addition, I learned that the Sentani culture recently had received an
important incentive following upon a special exhibition, in Jakarta, of
Sentani arts and crafts, organized by the independent Indonesian newspaper 'The Jakarta Post', in the spring of 1992. The exhibition, at which one
or two Sentani artists were present, had been a success, and all carvings and
barkcloth paintings (which featured prominently) were sold, and the
proceeds returned to the area. To support the show the newspaper had
published a special edition, nicely illustrated, dealing exclusively with
Sentani and focusing on the culture, past and present. To reflect the
sympathetic message I can do no better than quote the final paragraph of
the introductory article (by Raymond Toruan) reading:
'Should we remain indifferent and let the millennia-old ancestral soul
of the Sentani people depart unrestrained from the lakeside? Or must
we, in as far as we have a right to do so, somehow do our part to help
the people of the Sentani district maintain their artistic and cultural
identity? We do not contend to have the answers to those questions.
But if this exhibition succeeds, in however modest a scale, in inviting
all of us to ponder the issue, it will have achieved its purpose.'
In the other articles, the journalist Jim Supangkat reports on various
aspects and problems of contemporary Sentani culture, using the data he
collected personally on a trip covering most of the Sentani villages.
Recapitulating, I think that the Sentani exhibition at Jakarta, the annual
Arts and Crafts Fair at the Expo-Grounds, and the activities of the two
Museums, have had a stimulating influence on the arts and crafts of the area.
They offered new incentives to the artists and supplied a regular outlet at
the same time. Thus it appears that the spirits of the bush and the sea,
formerly the main source of inspiration, are not yet dead as was feared 20
years ago. Rather, they seem to have joined forces with powerful new spirits
like publicity, competition and cash. This new combination of incentives is
keeping the art of barkcloth painting alive, at least for the time being.
V
Finally, I would like to record a unique event that only recently came to
my notice, and was therefore not mentioned in my maro article of 1992 in
Greub's 'The Art of northwest New Guinea', and which, curiously enough,
has remained unnoticed in the professional periodicals, viz. 'The Arts and
Crafts Exhibition' of 1929, May 12-20 which was organized by B.J.O.
Schrieke and C.C.F.M. Le Roux on the occasion of the Fourth Pacific Science
Congress, and held at the museum of the Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen (Royal Batavian Society for Arts and
Sciences), now National Museum, Jakarta. Each province, including Irian
Jaya, was officially invited to take part and was asked to delegate a team of
capable craftsmen and women prepared to give a show of their skill and
dances at the Museum. Although detailed information is lacking, newspapers of the day report that indeed a group of 35 men and women from the
176
north coast of Irian Jaya left for Jakarta. They travelled on board the regular
KPM liner3 and carried with them a great deal of festive attire, musical
instruments and examples of ethnic arts and crafts. The Marind Anim team,
scheduled to represent the south coast, cancelled their departure at the last
minute, because they were 'afraid to die abroad from homesickness'.
In Batavia (now Jakarta) the team was lodged in army barracks, together
with no less than 22 other teams, ten from specific cultural areas of Java, Bali
and Sumatra, and twelve from Nias, Kalimantan, Sumba, Toraja, Ambon,
Ceram, Menado, Halmaheira, Kisar, Tanimbar and Sangir, a gathering of
some 450 people! At the Museum each team was allotted a place of its own
for the demonstration of its traditional handcraft skills, and for the display
and sale of its ethnic art-and-craft objects. The dances were held in the
evenings, on the grounds of the Botanical and Zoological Garden. Notwithstanding the admission fee (Indonesian visitors 30 cents, Chinese 60 cents
and European guilders 1.80, doublé on Sunday) the public thronged to the
Museum en masse and, to prevent chaos, measures were taken to admit the
public in lots of only 600 at a time. Nevertheless a total of 40,000 visitors
were admitted, not counting those attending the evening performances!
Despite the overcrowding the teams, dressed in full festive attire,
succeeded in presenting quite an attractive presentation, in an enthusiastic
mood and competitive spirit, for eight days in succession. The teams from
Kalimantan and Irian Jaya often stole the show, probably not so much
because of their 'wild dances and naive arts', but more on account of their
exotic appearance: the men heavily tattooed or wearing nose plugs, the
women dressed in only barkcloth skirts and shell necklaces. Also the
assumption that these people were probably former headhunters, will have
played a part.
The public was excited, and ethnic arts and crafts were sold to the tune
of 100,000 dutch guilders! One reporter wrote that the Irian Jaya team did
a brisk business, selling among other things some 2000 arrows. After the
exhibition the participants were entertained by the Government and were
offered sightseeing trips throughout the city and a train journey to the town
of Bogor. A film was shown picturing the various activities in which the
teams had taken part.
Thereafter they began their return, the Irian Jaya group leaving by ship
on May 28th. They carried with them a considerable load of fancy goods and,
I am sure, were overwhelmed with new impressions. Fig. 46, copied from
the magazine 'Woord en Beeld' of May 1929, pictures the group from Serui/
Waropen, sitting amidst their arts-and-crafts collection. Fig. 47, copied from
the magazine 'd' Oriënt' of May 1929, shows a Humboldt Bay man and
woman; the man, selfconfident, poses as a fighter, the woman is dressed in
a plain barkcloth skirt.
3
KPM stands for: Koninklijke Paketvaart Maatschappij.
NOTES ON THE ART OE BARKCLOTH PAINTING
1 7"
Figure 46. Waropen
people CSerui area) at
the Arts and Crafts
Exhibition of 1929 ar
the National Museum.
Jakarta. (Reproduced
from the magazine
'Woord en Beeld', May
1929)
Figure 47. Humboldt
Bay man and woman at
the National Museum.
Jakarta. May 1929. The
man insisted beïng
photographed in
fighting position, the
women wearïng a plain
barkcloth skirt.
(Reproduced from the
magazine d'Orient. 18
May 1929)
178
With regard to the use and sale of barkcloth at the exhibition, I would
like to make the following comments:
1. several newspapers mentioned that the women of the Irian Jaya team
were wearing barkcloth skirts. Nowhere was there any mention that
these skirts were coloured or decorated. Also fig. 47 shows that these
skirts were just plain pieces of barkcloth;
2. a magazine article by P. F. Dahler, referred to decorated barkcloth. The
author observed a Humboldt Bay man in contact with a man from Bali
comparing a piece of decorated barkcloth with a glittering 'kain songkaf.
He then overheard the man from Humboldt Bay saying, with reference
to his native barkcloth: 'ini bagus juga' — 'this is nice too', to which the
Balinese gracefully assented (d' Oriënt', June 8th 1929);
3. in the newspaper 'Bataviaasch Nieuwsblad' of May llth 1929 a journalist,
reporting on the displays he had seen at the various stands, remarked
that, when entering the Irian Jaya stand, he was struck by pieces of
barkcloth decorated with 'naive drawings in bright colours'.
From the above reports it may appear that, in the Jayapura area,
decorated barkcloth was being produced for sale as early as the beginning
of 1929- This conclusion is of some interest, as most of the barkcloth
paintings were collected after that date.
In this context I like to recall the following facts:
a. the large collection of arts and crafts brought together by Wirz during
prolonged stays in 1921 and 1926, contain only one or two maro smo;
b. Viot, visiting Tobati in 1929 as a stranger to the area, collected no less
than 50 maro smo, of which many show new designs; six of them are
pictured in Peltier's study on Viot (Greub, 1992);
c. Fleischmann, calling at Humboldt Bay in December 1931, bought no less
than 41 maro smo, many in a innovative style not seen before; five of
them are shown in Meyn's catalogue 'Black Island Paradise', 1982.
How did it, come about that, Viot managed to collect such a large number
of maro smo, and from where had the innovative style come? These
questions have remained unanswered because Viot left no documentation
on his collecting activities. From Peltier's study we learn that Viot signed the
travel contract in Paris in April 1929. It therefore seems safe to say that Viot
cannot have arrived at Tobati before the end of June 1929. It follows that Viot
arrived only a short while after the Humboldt Bay team had returned from
their successful show at the Jakarta Exhibition.
For Viot this coincidence proved highly fortunate: the excitement over
the Jakarta experience had not yet died down, the memories of the
Exhibition were still vivid and colourful, minds were open to new ideas. It
is, I suppose, this festive and creative atmosphere in combination with Viot's
eagerness and desire for maro smo which, in a plausible way, explain the
revival and innovation of the art of barkcloth painting of mid~1929-
179
I will now conclude my account of the Jakarta Exhibition of 1929, a
unique event which could, with good reason, also have been called: 'The
first all-Indonesia ethnic Arts and Crafts Fair'. It is satisfying to see that the
practice has survived and that, be it on a regional basis, nowadays an Arts
and Crafts Fair is held each year at the Expo-Grounds at Waena, right on the
borders of Lake Sentani. It is also interesting to note that decorated
barkcloth, on display in Jakarta for the first time at the Exhibition of 1929,
has finally returned after many presentations abroad to Jakarta, where
barkcloth paintings were featured at the Sentani Exhibition of 1992.
For the sake of clarity I should point out that my trips of 1993 and 1994
covered only villages situated in the eastern part of Lake Sentani: lack of time
prevented me from also visiting the central and western areas. For this
reason the information obtained during these trips is not representative of
the area as a whole. Nevertheless, I trust that they will be of interest to the
imaginary author of the book 'Decorated barkcloth of New Guinea'. Such a
book would link up nicely with Kooijman's 'Ornamented bark-cloth in
Indonesia' of 1963-
References cited
Galis, K.W.
1956/1957 Elnologische survey van het Jafi-district. Unpublished manuscript.
Hollandia.
Greub, Suzanne (ed.)
1992
Art of Northwest New Guinea, from GeelvinkBay, Humboldt Bay, and Lake
Sentani. New York.
Kooijman, Simon
1959
The art of Lake Sentani. New York.
1963
Ornamented bark-cloth in Lndonesia, Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum
Kooijman, Simon, and Jac. Hoogerbrugge
1992
Art of Wakde-Yamna area, Humboldt Bay, and Lake Sentani. In: Suzanne
Greub (ed.), Art of Northwest New Guinea. New York. Pp. 57-125.
Meyn, Susan L.
1982
Black Lsland Paradise. Life in Melanesia. Cincinnati.
Peltier, Philippe
1992
Jacques Viot, the Maro of Tobati, and Modern Painting, Paris-New Guinea,
1925-1935. In: Suzanne Greub (ed.). Art of Northwest New Guinea. New
York. Pp. 155-175.
180
9
BARKCLOTH IN INDONESIA
SIMON KOOIJMAN'S VIEWS,
AND ADDITIONAL RESEARCH
ON ENGGANO ISLAND
Pieter ter Keurs
Introduction
In 1963 Simon Kooijman published his 'Ornamented barkcloth in
Indonesia', as number 16 of the 'Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde, Leiden', the same series in which more of his work appeared,
and also the series in which this book is published. Kooijman was curator
of the Oceanic Department of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde and
therefore a book focussing on Indonesian material culture may seem
surprising. Kooijman was apparently side-tracked, but with a good reason.
In the 195Os Simon Kooijman began to work on the subject of barkcloth in
Oceania, and more and more this interest evolved into a long-term activity
that was to become a main focus of his professional career. Although the
well-known book on Sentani Art (1959) interrupted his barkcloth work, he
never really allowed himself to be completely drawn away from the subject.
However, during his research (at that time only museum research) on
Oceanic barkcloth, he feit the need to obtain more information on Indonesian barkcloth, since Indonesia and Oceania are part of the same cultural
background (Kooijman 1963:VII). Indonesian material had to be studied to
obtain a good basis for his Oceanic research. At that time Dr. Jan Keuning
was Kooijman's colleague in the Indonesian Department, and apparently it
presented no problem for him to allow Kooijman to study the barkcloth in
the Indonesian collection of the museum. From the beginning the study was
meantto be a preliminary phase in the study of Oceanic barkcloth. Kooijman
never intended to do fieldwork in Indonesia and he limited his attention to
the Indonesian collections of the main Dutch museums, especially the
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde (National Museum of Ethnology).
In the 1950s Keuning was working on an historical study of Enggano
Island,1 just before leaving the museum to be appointed Professor at the
University of Leiden in 1960. His successor was Dr. A.C. van der Leeden.2
Keuning's work later became the starting point for the Enggano research by
1
Dr. Jan Keuning published two articles on the subject (1955, 1958).
2
See also Van Wengen's introduction in this volume.
181
the author of this article. It is therefore my intention to discuss Kooijman's
book on Indonesian ornamented barkcloth, to add some information from
various sources, and finally to discuss barkcloth from Enggano island, which
was mentioned only briefly in Kooijman's book.
Mededeling 16, Ornamented barkcloth in Indonesia
In this discussion3 of the book 'Ornamented barkcloth in Indonesia' I will
concentrate on chapter I. In the introduction Kooijman states that he will
start his book with the conclusions from his research, justifying the order of
his chapters thus: "This sequence seems not only desirable but justified,
because it leaves to the reader the choice of whether he cares to laboriously
struggle with the considerable amount of factual data on which the
conclusions are based" (Kooijman 1963:1). The route towards the conclusions may be "a long and dull one", and Kooijman offers his readers the
possibility of skipping the information that has no interest for their
purposes. The comparison between the Indonesian area and the Oceanic
area, related to the subject of barkcloth production, is given in the last
chapter of the book, and Kooijman also remarks about this that its "place at
the end of the book is due to the fact that the number of scholars interested
in publications of this kind is relatively small" (ibid.:2). Two observations
can be made, related to these introductory remarks. Firstly, Kooijman clearly
positions himself as the educator and the teacher who knows how to give
information in a balanced way; secondly, he modestly judges part of his
work as to be less important for most people. Following Kooijman's own
ideas about the book, I will first summarize chapters II and III briefly, and
then discuss in more detail chapter I, probably the most interesting chapter,
open to many points of discussion.
In chapter II the technical aspects of the production of ornamented
barkcloth in Indonesia are discussed. Although not everything is known
about the subject (ibid.:56), the chapter gives a fairly good idea of the
production of barkcloth. Mainly based on the work of Adriani and Kruyt
(1901, 1912-1914) and Kaudern (1944) Kooijman gives a description of the
production of the Toraja4 jackets (lemba, karaba) and headdresses (siga).
He then discusses the Javanese deluwang, hardly mentioned in the concluding chapter I, before coming to a more general discussion on barkcloth
production in Indonesia. There is very useful information about the trees
used in several parts of the country for the production of barkcloth. After
this Kooijman turns to the techniques used for ornamentation, including the
dyes used to paint the designs on the cloths. Chapter II is especially valuable
for putting together interesting information on the production of barkcloth
3
I would like to thank Prof. dr. Jos Platenkamp and Dr. David Stuart-Fox for reading the draft
of this article and for their critical remarks.
In this article modern Indonesian spelling is used for geographical and tribal names. In 1963
Kooijman used the regular old spelling of that time. Thus, 'Toradja' becomes 'Toraja' and
'Ceram' becomes 'Seram'.
182
from very varied sources, enabling the reader to gain a clear picture of the
diversity of the subject in the different culture areas of Indonesia.
Chapter III sets out to give a definition of the different styles of
ornamented barkcloth, based on the available museum collections. Concentrating on the motifs, Kooijman discusses Kalimantan as a style area and goes
into extensive detail about the Toraja of Central Sulawesi. Clearly influenced
by the available ethnographic information, the discussion of the Toraja
material is much more detailed than that of the Kalimantan material. The
third geographical area is Maluku in which Seram and Halmahera are treated
separately. Fascinating designs on the pubic belts from West Seram are
discussed. The women's jackets from Halmahera (kotangu) are briefly
mentioned. Finally there is mention of what is called the 'marginal area of
West New Guinea'.5 In this Kooijman has described the main areas of
production of ornamented barkcloth. With the available museum collections
and the related ethnographic information, he mapped a type of material
culture which had never before been studied so thoroughly.
Chapter I is in fact a summary of the conclusions of the research. It is a
fascinating summary, interpreting the available material after close scrutiny,
ending in hypotheses. Kooijman was well aware of the drawbacks of his
study, and at the same time he was careful enough not to fall into the trap
of too many easy generalizations. His hypotheses are stimulating and
inviting, especially intended as the base for more research in the field. Apart
from literature Kooijman also uses unpublished material, such as information given by missionaries or, in the case of Borneo, information given by
Torn Harrison with whom he corresponded. The thorough way in which the
information is collected and the careful manner in which it is interpreted,
are characteristic elements of Simon Kooijman's work.
As a result of a stylistic analysis of the motifs on barkcloth, some
interesting conclusions are being formulated. In the process of coming to
conclusions, Kooijman makes clear that he is well aware of the problem of
name and meaning. He mentions 'the possibility that the name merely
served to denote the designs without explaining their meaning' (Kooijman
1963:8). This problem has later been explicitly mentioned by scholars like
Anthony Forge (1979). However, Kooijman was already conscious of the
sweeping conclusions it could lead to, if the researcher were not aware of
this problem. Therefore his main instrument was stylistic analysis; comparing designs without being too quickly concerned about their meaning. In the
1970s and the 1980s this kind of analysis would be called 'formal analysis',
and some stimulating examples can be mentioned here. Laura Greenberg
(1975) studied Hopi earthenware, and Ad Boeren studied the Asmat shields
of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde in this fashion.6 However, Kooijman
5
6
See also Hoogerbrugge's chapter in this volume.
As a student of Prof. Gerbrands, Ad Boeren worked with Dr. Simon Kooijman during training
practice at the museum in the 1970s. In this period he started his work on the Asmat shields.
See Boercn's chapter in this volume.
183
never went deeply into that type of analysis. After studying the designs he
always tried to reach some conclusions about the meaning of the designs,
although he realized that the available information was not always enough.
Boeren only allowed meaning into his research at the final stage, after the
formal principles of order had been found and described.
In chapter I a discussion of ornamented barkcloth in Kalimantan and
Sarawak leads to the careful conclusion that the designs are usually 'human
related' (ibid.:8), making use of the aso motif (see also Sellato 1989). A
combination of basic motifs is often used to depict designs with a meaning
that should be interpreted at a different level. In the case of the Kenyah of
Kalimantan, aso motifs are used to make designs that stand for human
figures, probably ancestors. A similar situation, with different motifs, can be
observed in the case of the Asmat of Irian Jaya. Gerbrands (1967) comes to
the conclusion that the motif of the praying mantis (wènèi) is of central
importance to understanding Asmat material culture. Two interlocking
ivènèt motifs become a human figure, an ancestor, and in this form the
design can be seen extensively on shields. As with the Asmat 'wènèt/huma.n
figure' relationship, the Kenyah use the 'aso/human figure' relationship to
create the designs on their ornamented barkcloth and shields. Kooijman also
touches upon the role of Kenyah barkcloth in head-hunting and in the rituals
performed at the death of a chief.
In discussing ornamented barkcloth from Sulawesi, Kooijman concentrates on the men's headdresses (siga) from the Toraja and the women's
jackets (lemba or karaba). He distinguishes three style areas in East
Indonesia, one of which is the Toraja area of Central Sulawesi. The othertwo
are the barkcloth-producing areas of West Seram and North Halmahera.
With regard to Sulawesi and Seram, a similarity is mentioned; in both areas
there is a marked relationship between the use of ornamented barkcloth, the
symbolism of the sun, and head-hunting. Basic designs are a stylized flying
bird and a diamond-shaped motif with or without diagonals. 'For the Toradja
it could ... be demonstrated that the square or diamond-shaped siga with
their diagonals marking the division of the pattern, probably represent the
upper-world or the heavens. This idea is confirmed, among other things, by
the sun symbolism and the upper-world aspect of various motifs of the siga
patterns. Thus the warriors and the head-hunters, are here connected with
the Lord of the heavens, the sun, and the upper-world' (Kooijman 1963:52).
Kooijman comes to this kind of conclusion after thorough study of the
available information. He places ornamented barkcloth within a cultural
context, although he ackowledges the lack of information on various aspects
of the subject.
In the final part of chapter I, there 'is a temptation to mention ... the views
offered by F.D.E. van Ossenbruggen and W.H. Rassers concerning the
Javanese montja-pat conception' (Kooijman 1963:53). This seems to be one
of the rare occasions when Kooijman begins to come close to theorizing; in
the sense of paying lipservice to important theoretical anthropological
views, current at that time. However, even in this situation he is careful.
184
Although a monca-pat design is visible in many barkcloth objects from
Sulawesi and Seram he realizes that this aspect i.s only meaningful if it can
be demonstrated that the four-five division is a central principle in other
aspects of culture as well, e.g., social structure. Unfortunately, this 'could
not be proved' (Kooijman 1963:54). It can also not be demonstrated that
there is a relationship between the oiale design, a representation of the sun
and four flying birds around it, on Seramese lawani (pubic belts) and the
local social structure.
The last paragraph of the first chapter of 'Ornamented barkcloth in
Indonesia' contains a message that still holds good in the 1990s. In fact, in
the present period when museum policies are constantly being reviewed,
and commercial elements are being introducecl at the expense of thorough
long-term research, Kooijman's final conclusion acquires a political dimension. As stated before, Kooijman realizes the difficulty of not having enough
reliable information from fieldwork, but at the same time he stresses the
importance of research in the rich storerooms of the museums. A better
understanding 'can only be arrived at by the cooperation of scholars
working both in the field and with the still insufficiently explored treasures
of material culture and art stored in our ethnographical collections. It does
not seem too bold to suppose that the present arm-chair ethnologists' views
which are based mainly on the study of museum objects and documentary
data of a highly fragmentary character, raay, nevertheless, be of use to some
future fieldworker by throwing light on cultural phenomena and intracultural relations, and thus perhaps contributing to a new perspective and
stimulating others to find fresh and valuable new perspectives' (1963:55).
Additional fieldwork
Although a good deal of additional information on specific Indonesian
cultures has become available since the publication of Kooijman's study, the
subject of barkcloth does not seem to have been a central focus. This is, of
course, not surprising. In most Indonesian cultures barkcloth ceased to be
of importance at the beginning of the 20th century, and only during crisis
situations did people start to make barkcloth again. In Central Sulawesi the
local people produced and wore bark clothing during World War II, clue to
a shortage of textiles (Aragon 1991:157).
In two of the areas Kooijman writes about, more fieldwork has been
done. Naomichi Ishige (1980) published a book on the Galela, and Jos
Platenkamp (1988, 1990) studied the Tobelo of North Halmahera. Hetty
Nooij-Palm (1979, 1986, 1989) reported extensively on her fieldwork among
the Sa'dan Toraja of Sulawesi, and Lorraine Aragon (1990, 1991) more
recently published some information on barkcloth production in Central
Sulawesi, just north of the Sa'dan. I would also like to mention Eija-Maija
Kotilainen's (1992) study on the material culture of Central Sulawesi.
However, this recent book is almost entirely based on the study of museum
collections alone.
185
Concerning the bark loincloths of Halmahera, Kooijman (1963:46)
distinguishes two different types: the pisa and the sabeba. Both types are to
be used by men, although the latter seems to be especially meant for boys.
They had to be grown up before they were allowed to wear the pisa. A third
type of ornamented strip of barkcloth was the o sone ma sasawo, made by
a young woman as a gift to her father-in-law. This third type was longer than
the pisa.
Platenkamp (1988, 1990) describes Tobelo society and touches upon the
role of material culture, e.g., barkcloth, in Tobelo culture. In the museum
catalogue for the exhibition 'De Waarde der Dingen' (1990)7, where he notes
that the Tobelo made their clothing from bark until the end of the 19th
century (Platenkamp 1990:33), Platenkamp describes two loincloths (ibid.:
38) from Tobelo or Galela, hereby adding some details to Kooijman's
material. The first loincloth (no. 600) may have been used as a ceremonial
gift from the bride-takers to the bride-givers. The design is interesting, since
it relates to the monca-pat problem also discussed, in critical terms, by
Kooijman. In fact, the problem Kooijman describes (Kooijman 1963:54) is
also touched upon by Platenkamp. The central design of the loincloth
described resembles a rosette with four 'arms' which may represent the four
descent lines which constitute a "house". The hypothetical way in which
Platenkamp makes this statement suggests that he too has difficulty in
proving this relation between a monca-pat-like design and the social
structure.8 The second loincloth (no. 48.301) has diamond and triangle
motifs. It has probably been used by women as a loincloth, or as a cloth that
covered the breasts. The loincloths for men were usually longer and less
wide that those for women. In his Ph.D. thesis (1988) Platenkamp just briefly
discusses the role of barkcloth as status symbols, in (marriage) ritual gifts,
and in burials, when the dead person is 'stored' in an envelope of the clead
(in Galela language o sone ma sasawo), a long piece of barkcloth (1988:153).
Ishige, who gives a description of Galela material culture, mentions
barkcloth only once: 'It appears,..., that by the beginning of the twentieth
century most of the Galela had already started wearing imported clothes. It
is known that barkcloth was formerly made in Sulawesi, Seram, and
Halmahera. The Galela are also said to have worn barkcloth clothes before
the introduction of textile goods, since they were not skilled at weaving. In
this century, as cloth goods have come into common use, the villagers have
forgotten how to make clothes of barkcloth, and none remain in Galela. It
is said, however, that the people had to make barkcloth under the guidance
of some old men, when goods became unavailable during World War II'
(Ishige 1980:477).
The ethnographer of the Sa'dan Toraja, Hetty Nooij-Palm, does not report
anything of interest to our subject. In her reports on several periods of
research among the Sa'dan Toraja (1979, 1986) she repeatedly discusses the
role of cloths in Toraja life. However, she seems to disregard barkcloth
7
The exhibition 'De Waarde der Dingen', 'The Value of Things', was held in the Museon in
The Hague, the Netherlands, and organised by Anne-Marie Boer and Jos Platenkamp.
s
See also Platenkamp (1988:211) for a discussion of designs in Tobelo plaited artefacts.
186
completely. The barkcloth headdress (siga) for important men is not
mentioned. Instead, the batik'd headcloth, tale bate, is mentioned as a part
of traditional Toraja clothing (Nooij-Palm 1986:308). In a later publication
Nooij-Palm describes some siga from the collection of the Museum of
Ethnology in Rotterdam. In this case (Nooij-Palm 1989:218-223) the information she gives seems to be based on Kooijman's work on the subject, and
not on her own fieldwork. However, in this context we have to review the
concept of'Toraja'. Formerly, all inhabitants of Central Sulawesi were called
Toraja, and in Kooijman's book a distinction is made between the Western
Toraja, the Eastern Toraja, and the Sa'dan Toraja (Kooijman 1963:17). NooijPalm worked among the Sa'dan Toraja, but most of the material Kooijman
wrote about came from the area around Lake Poso, north of the Sa'dan. Since
the Sa'dan Toraja were less isolated than their northern neighbours, it is
most likely that their barkcloth was replaced by textiles much earlier. In fact
Aragon (1990) reports that barkcloth is still made and used among the
Tobaku and neighbouring groups, west of Lake Poso. She also gives a
description of the technical aspects of producing barkcloth and stresses the
relationship between the making of barkcloth and fertility (Aragon 1990:44).
Although not based on fieldwork, a refreshing study is Kotilainen's book
on the material culture of Central Sulawesi (1992). The chapter on the role
of barkcloth in Central Sulawesi is only a part of her study, but Kotilainen
succeeds (by placing the subject within her analytical framework) in looking
at barkcloth among the Toraja in a slightly different way from Kooijman's.
Although she uses the same sources, her discussion on the relationship
between barkcloth and textiles, transcendence, shamanism, death, the
spirits, and the ancestors touches upon some problems that have never been
discussed so clearly before. Technical clescriptions are lacking. Apparently
recent fieldwork is not always necessary to throw new light on a subject,
especially when some good old ethnographic sources are available.
The Enggano case, barkcloth jackets
About 150 kilometres South of Bengkulu town lies Enggano island (map).
Nowadays the island has the status of a kecamatan (subdistrict) and is part
of the province of Bengkulu (fig. 48). Until now Enggano has only been
accessible by boat and the boat service is rather irregular. As mentioned
above, Keuning studied Enggano in the 1950s, but he never did fieldwork
in the area. His research, although very useful, therefore has its limitations.
He concentrated on an historical approach, especially focusing on the
contacts the Engganese had with the outside world, and their devastating
consequences (Keuning 1955, 1958). In the 1850s and the 1860s the
population of Enggano declined dramatically, probably due to diseases like
cholera and syphilis. Although the figures may not be completely reliable,
they give an indication of the death rate between 1852 and 1864. Von
Rosenberg (1855), who visited Enggano in 1852 counted 6420 people. Just
twelve years later Helfrich (1889) mentioned a total number of 840 people.
The Italian travelier Elio Modigliani (1894), the most important researcher
187
Figure 48. Map of Enggano Lsland. (Map by Frans Stelling)
of Enggano, also mentioned these figures. An enormous disaster must have
happened. After that the Dutch authoritles shared concern with the wellbeing of the Enggano people, and several times they sent medical staff to
the island to look into the matter. However, I will not discuss this subject
any further in this context. The main point is that since the 19th century
many authors have stated that Enggano culture was dying (Keuning
1955:210; Suzuki 1958:14) and that museum collections would soon be the
only survivals of this fascinating culture (see also Jaspan 1973:54).
In 1994 I had the opportunity to visit Enggano as a preliminary stage in
a long-term research project.9 The visit was planned in cooperation with the
Museum in Bengkulu, and one of its staff members, Mr. Thaufik Yusba,
accompanied me on the trip. Here, I will not report in detail on what we
found on Enggano. A first conclusion can be that the Enggano language is
still spoken by the local Engganese people. The population declined no
further. According to information of the Kantor Statistik (Bureau of Statistics)
in Bengkulu, 1420 people lived on the island in 1989, divided over six
villages. However, 35.85 % of the population belongs to suhu Koomayk
The Enggano research is carried out in cooperation with the Direktorat Permuseuman in
Jakarta, under the auspicies of LIPI (Lembaga Ilmu Pengetahuan Indonesia). The trip to
Enggano in 1994 was financed by the Leids Etnologisch Fonds (Leiden Ethnological Fund).
188
Plate 15. Barkcloth jacket from Enggano. RMV 135-5. (Photo by Ben Grishaaver)
(Tendatang' in Bahasa Indonesia) which is considered to be the kinship
group for immigrants. The rest of the population belongs to the five 'real'
Engganese suku-. Kaahoa. Kaitora, Kaarubi. Kaaruba. and Kauno.
Due to the lack of material. Sumatra is not well represented in Kooijman's
book. In fact, only one object from western Indonesia is mentioned: a
Plate 16. Detail of RMV 135-5.
(Photo by Ben Grishaaver)
189
painted barkcloth jacket, originating from either F.nggano or Nias (plate 15)
(Kooijman 1963:3, Plate 1). 'This piece shows ornamentation composed
mainly of rows of painted figures. Along the upper and lower borders some
patterns have been carried out with coloured beads. The designs applied to
the surface by either painting or beadwork are for the most part more or less
stylized representations of people and animals. It is of some interest to note
the figures on one side of the jacket showing flying birds of a stylized shape
similar to the birdforms of many of the oiale-Yike patterns onToraja/wjwand
on Seramese barkcloths belts. No comments can be made on the significance
of these designs, however, there being no data available on either the exact
provenance or the social function of this isolated piece: (ibid.:3)Kooijman's doubt about the provenance of the piece is probably caused
by an inexplicable note on the museum card. Someone wrote on the card
the remark 'Enggano or Kias' with a question mark. The card and the
description of the object had already been made when Kooijman studied the
piece. However, it is not clear who compiled the card, and why the doubt
about the provenance is mentioned. The original inventory lists of the
museum show no doubt. There it clearly says, in handwritting, 'Enggano".
The provenance 'Nlas' is unlikely since all the objects from series 135 come
from Enggano orjava. The collection was bought from Mr. A. Hakbijl in 1871
and can therefore be considered an old Enggano collection. Further
information. e.g., on how Mr. Hakbijl became owner of Enggano objects, is
lacking.
Plate 17. Barkcloth jacket from Enggano. RMV 1904-284. (Photo by Ben Grisbaaver)
190
I agree with Kooijman's suggestion that the Enggano piece stylistically
resembles the barkcloth products from East Indonesia (Sulawesi and
Maluku), and that the Kalimantan barkcloths are clearly different. The bird
designs fit into the description of bird designs on Toraja fuya and Seramese
lawani. The human-like figures (plate 16) made of beads, probably
imported by Buginese traders who worked with Chinese capital (Boewang
1854), can be compared with the human figures on thepisa from Halmahera
shown in Kooijman's book (Plate XV, fig.2).
Fortunately, a second barkcloth jacket from Enggano was found a few
years ago. Due to a long (still ongoing) process of renovating the storage
of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, I accidentally found an unidentified
piece of barkcloth in one of the store-rooms. It appeared to be a second
jacket from Enggano, and soon the original museum number could also be
identified (plate 17). The sleeves were loose, probably due to inadequate
handling of the object. According to the documentation the jacket originates
from Enggano, and became part of the museum collection in 1914. It was
a part of a collection (series 1904) which was given to the museum by the
Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen
(Royal Batavian Society for Arts and Sciences). This time the main motifs
were not birds, but diamonds.10
When Thaufik and I were on Enggano in 1994 we showed photographs
of old museum pieces to our informants. The two barkcloth jackets were
included in the selection. However, the reactions were not very encouraging. Nobody recognized the pieces as Enggano cloths. Some people said that
they had heard from their grandparents that barkcloth was used in the past,
but they had never seen it. The designs of RMV 135-5 (plate 15) were
recognized as bird motifs, because the designs really resemble birds, not
because a special meaning was attached to them. On our questions about
who used to wear such barkcloth jackets, reactions were also vague. In
general the feeling was that they could have been worn by both men and
women. The human-like figure made of beads could not be further
identified.
It is not surprising that the people knew virtually nothing about the
ornamented barkcloth jackets. When we look at the published sources on
Enggano it becomes clear that this kind of object became extinct in the 19th
century. Von Rosenberg (1855:375), who was on Enggano from September
10 until September 24, 1852, reported that both women and men used a vest
of barkcloth (he wrote 'boomschors') only at festive occasions. Boewang
(1854:393) reported that the Engganese had no special clothing. Van der
Straaten and Severijn, two government officials, whose report is full of
prejudices, were on Enggano in 1854 and mentioned nothing about clothing.
They did mention, however, that dead bodies were wrapped in barkcloth
10
Note the (perhaps superficial) relation to the diamond-like shape in Toraja ornamented
barkcloth (Kooijman 1963:52).
191
(Van der Straaten and Severijn 1855:361) before being buried.11 Walland
(1864:103) reported that the women wore jackets of barkcloth while
working in the gardens during rainy weather. An anonymous report in the
Journal of the Koninklijk Bataviaasch Genootschap (1870) - probably
written by Van der Hoeven, a Dutch civil servant based in Bengkulu mentioned that the women were 'more or less' dressed in sarongs and
jackets made of cotton or barkcloth. Sometimes one can see also
men wearing small jackets (the Dutch word 'buisjes') (Anonymous
1870:178,179). O. L. Helfrich, at that time 'controleur' at Bengkulu, wrote
that the women usually had the upper part of the body covered with a jacket
of white textile or chintz (Helfrich 1888:296, 297). Helfrich also collected for
the Bataviaasch Genootschap in Batavia and for the Museum in Leiden.
However, he did not collect barkcloth jackets. In the 'Notulen' (Minutes) of
the Bataviaasch Genootschap of 1889, which includes a list of objects
collected on Enggano by Helfrich (1889:V-VII), this type of object is not
mentioned. Finally, Modigliani (1894:151) reports that barkcloth has been
replaced by cotton at the time he was doing his fieldwork, which was in
1889.
Looking at the published evidence, we have to conclude that we have
little information on the use and the meaning of the barkcloth jackets in the
collection at the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde. The pieces were collected
in the 19th century, but the exact date of collecting is unknown. At least one
of the objects was collected before Modigliani stayed on Enggano. It is most
likely that the pieces were used during festive occasions. The designs, bird
motifs, diamond motifs and X-shaped motifs cannot be identified more
specifically. In the event that the Engganese material is related to the East
Indonesian material Kooijman describes, the designs may have something
to do with head-hunting and the upper world. In fact, bird designs did often
occur in Engganese material culture. A wooden bird was attached to the
roofs of the traditional houses, as well to the canoes. Both the houses and
the canoes were owned and inherited by women (the suku are matrilineair);
however, the bird designs may well be associated with the male world and
the upper world. The men are the hunters,12 the women ensure the
continuation of life. There may also be a relationship between head-hunting
and the position of women. Modigliani (1894:156) shows a woman in festive
dress with an amulet on her back which is associated with slain enemies.13
Gigliolli (1893:129) reports, and he probably uses Modigliani's notes, that
on certain occasions women have an amulet on their backs and that each
11
Van der Straaten and Severijn (1855:360) counted 4,870 people on the island in 1854, already
a great many less than Von Rosenberg found two years before, but they do not find epidemie
diseases, although they do mention venereal diseases, probably introduced by traders.
12
Compare the situation in Maluku Tenggara. According to Toos van Dijk (personal
communication) on the Kei islands the sea-eagle is the symbol of the man as a hunter. In other
parts of Maluku Tenggara a cock is sometimes depicted on a canoe prow, occasionally also as
a cock catching its prey.
13
In the literature remarks can be found about captured heads of slain enemies and heads that
were used to support houses (Von Rosenberg 1855; Helfrich 1888; Giglioni 1893:128).
192
PACIFIC MATEKIAL CULTURE
string of the amulet stands for one victim. The women who wear such
garments are what he calls wives of headmen. Unfortunately, the woman of
Modigliani's photo (1894:156) does not wear a barkcloth jacket. This makes
it diffïcult to expand on the relationship between barkclothing and headhunting, a.s Kooijman did in his discussions of Kalimantan and Maluku
barkcloth.
Figure 49. Mr. Yusak, in front of his house in Apoho. with some of his relatives.
(Photo by Pieter ter Keurs)
Figure 50. A plank, with a diamond design, in the ceiling of Mr. Yusak's
house. (Photo bv Pieter Ier Keurs)
BARKCLOTH IN INDOXESIA
193
The diamond motifs on the second barkcloth jacket (RMV 1904-284) are
also difficult to interpret. However, in this case too there is an obvious
resemblancc to East Indonesia. The central importance of the diamond
figure in Toraja barkcloth. as observed by Kooijman, may be comparable
with the position of the diamond design in Enggano material culture. Apart
from the design on the jacket, onc can also sometimes see the same kind
of design in house decoratïons, for example the one in Mr. Yusak's house
in Apoho (figs. 49 and 50). Kclated to this subject, and discussed by
Kooijman (1963:53) in the context of Van Ossenbruggen's (1918) monca-pat
hypothesis, is the diamond design with a clear centre, the four ends which
become a unity because of its centre. Both in Toraja material culture and in
the Seramese loin cloths this design appears to be the most important
Figure 51- Designs on wooden doors. (Illustration from Modigliani, 1894.119)
194
Figure 52. Belt for women. RMV 135-11. (Photo by Pieter ter Keurs)
ordering principle. In Enggano material culture the old wooden doors are
the clearest expression of this design (fig. 51), as one sees from the doors
Modigliani depicted in his book (1894:118, 119).l4 However, the same fourfive division can be found in the beadwork of Enggano belts (fig. 52).
It is tempting to relate the diamond and the monca-pat designs of
Enggano material culture to the five kinship groups (suku) mentioned
before. Mr. Yusak, head of suku Kaahoa, explicitly related the first-placed
and central house pole to the house owner's suku and the next four poles
to the other four suku. A similar principle may be applicable to the diamond
ancl monca-pat designs. However, this hypothesis may go too far. The myth
of origin among the Enggano people reveals that in the beginning there were
only three suku, and not five. How this relates to Mr. Yusak's story and to
the so-called monca-pat design, is not clear.
Concluding remarks
The two barkcloth jackets from Enggano island in the collection of the
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde are rare pieces of a type of material culture
14
W. L. Abbott (unpublished notes), who collected Enggano objects for the National Museum
of Natural History in Washington, D.C.. believed that some Engganese designs were probably
copied from Buginese boats, which frequently visited Enggano in the 19th century.
I would like to thank Dr. Paul Taylor for invicing me to study the Enggano collection at the
National Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C.
195
that apparently disappeared early in the 19th century. Not much information
is available to throw light on the use and meaning of this type of object. Lack
of similar material from Sumatra is also a drawback. However, in line with
Kooijman's study of ornamented barkcloth in Indonesia, one can observe a
striking similarity to barkcloth products in East Indonesia. It remains
doubtful whether or not these hypotheses about similarities in style and
meaning can ever be tested during fieldwork. Just as in the case of the
Enggano research, recent fieldwork in Indonesia, with the exception of
Aragon's work, has not revealed much more detailed information about
ornamented barkcloth in Indonesia. This makes Kooijman's work on the
subject all the more important.
References cited
Adriani, N., and A. C. Kruyt
1901
Geklopte boomschors als kleedingstof op Midden-Celebes en hare geographische verspreiding in Indonesië. Internationales Archiv für Ethnographie 14:139-191.
1912-1914 De Bare'e sprekende Toradja's van Midden-Celebes. (Three volumes)
Batavia.
Anonymous
1870
Verslag van eene reis van den assistent-resident van Benkulen naat het
eiland Engano. Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Land-en Volkenkunde 19,
165-200.
Aragon, Lorraine V.
1990
Barkcloth production in Central Sulawesi, a vanishing textile technology
in outer island Indonesia. Expedition 32:33-48.
1991
Boombastdoek, inheemse stof van Sulteng. In: Sulawesi, Celebes.
Berkeley. Pp. 156-157.
Boewang
1854
Verslag omtrent het eiland Engano. Tijdschrift voor Indische Taal-, Landen Volkenkunde 2:379-393.
Forge, Anthony
1979
The problem of meaning in art. In: S. M. Mead (ed.), Exploring the Visual
art of Oceania, Australia, Melanesia, and Polynesia. Honolulu. Pp. 278286.'
Gerbrands, A. A.
1967
Wow-ipits, eight Asmat woodcarvers of New Guinea. The Hague.
Gigliolli, J.
1893
Notes on the ethnographic collections formed by Dr. Elio Modigliani
during his recent explorations in Central Sumatra and Enggano. InternaHonales Archiv für Ethnographie 6:109-131.
Greenberg, Laura J.
1975
Art as a structural system, a study of Hopi pottery designs. Studies in the
anthropology of'visual communieation 2:33-50.
196
Helfrich, O. L.
1888
De eilandgroep Engano. Tijdschrift van het Koninklijk Nederlandsch
Aardijkskundig Genootschap 5:272-314, 565.
1889
Aanteekeningen betreffende enige klederdrachten in de afdeeling Seloema (residentie Benkoelen) en voorwerpen van de eilandgroep Engano
(residentie Benkoelen) afkomstig. Notulen van het Bataviaasch Genootschap van Kunsten en Wetenschappen 27:V-VII.
Ishige, Naomichi
1980
Housing, household economy and material culture. In: Naomichi Ishige
(ed.), The Galela of Halmahera, apreliminary survey. Senri Ethnological
Studies 7. Osaka. Pp. 451-494.
Jaspan, M. A.
1973
A note on Enggano. Sumatra Research Bulletin 3:53-63.
Kaudern, W.
1944
Art in Central Celehes, results of the author's expedition to Celebes 19171920. Ethnological Studies in Celebes 6. Göteborg.
Keuning, J.
1955
Enggano, de geschiedenis van een verdwenen cultuur. Indonesië 8:177213.
1958
Holzschnitzereien von der Tnsel Enggano, Bemerkungen über einer fast
ausgestorbenen Kultur in Indonesia. Nachrichten der Gesellschaft für
Natur- und Völkerkunde Ostasiens 83:10-17.
Kooijman, Simon
1959
The art o/'Lake Sentani. New York.
1963
Ornamented bark-cloth in Indonesia. Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum
Kotilainen, Eija-Maija
1992
When the bones are left, a study of the material culture of Central Sulawesi.
Transactions of the Finnish Anthropological Society 31. Helsinki.
Modigliani, Elio
1894
L'isola delle donne, viaggio ad Engano. Milano.
Nooij-Palm, Hetty
1979
The Sa'dan-Toraja, a study of their social life and religion, volume 1,
organization, symbols and beliefs. Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk
Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 87. The Hague.
1986
The Sa'dan Toraja. A study of their social life and religion, volume2, riluals
of the East and West. Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor
Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 118. Dordrecht.
1989
Headcloth (sigd). In: S. Greub (ed.), Expressions of belief masterpieces of
African, Oceanic, and Indonesian Art from the Museum voor Volkenkunde, Rotterdam. New York. Pp. 218-226.
Ossenbruggen, F. D. E.
1918
De oorsprong van het Javaansche begrip montja-pat, in verband met
primitieve classificaties. Verslagen en mededeelingen der Koninklijke
[Nederlandsche] Akademie van Wetenschappen 5:6-44.
197
Platenkamp, J. D. M.
1988
Tobelo, ideas and values of a North Moluccan society. Ph.D. thesis. Leiden.
1990
De waarde der dingen, ceremoniële geschenken van de Tobelo. Tentoonstellingsgids. Den Haag.
Rosenberg, C. B. H. von
1855
Beschrijving van Engano en van deszelfs bewoners. Tijdschrift voor de
Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 3:370-386.
Sellato, Bernard
1989
Hornbill and dragon. Jakarta.
Straaten, J. van der, and P. Severijn
1855
Verslag van een in 1854 bewerkstelligd onderzoek op het eiland Engano.
Tijdschrift voor de Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 3:338-369Suzuki, P.
1958
The anthropology ofNias, Mentawai and Enggano. Bibliographical Series
3. Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde. 's-Gravenhage.
Walland, J.
1864
Het eiland Engano. Tijdschrift voor de Indische Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 14:93-124, 330-339.
WOODCARVING AND OTHER ASPECTS
OF MATERIAL CULTURE
200
10
MADE IN TONGA
MANUFACTURE AND ART OBJECTS FROM
LEAVES, BARK AND WOOD
Paul van der Grijp
Many contemporary products of Polynesian material culture are
non-traditional, even when produced by traditional techniques: 'Such things
as fake Hawaiian god figures carved by Tongans for sale to tourists are no
more Polynesian art than plastic tikis made in Japan and sold in Hawaiian
airport shops as souvenirs' (Kaeppler 1989:240). Art, for Adrienne Kaeppler,
is 'any cuïtural form that results from creative processes that use or
manipulate words, sounds, movements, materials, or spaces in such a way
that they formalize the nonformal,' while aesthetics refers to 'evaluative
ways of thinking about these cuïtural forms.' For a good anthropologist, as
Adrienne Kaeppler surely is, art may best be understood as 'cuïtural forms
embedded in social action' (1989:213)- Anthropological analysis of material
culture is therefore not just focused on objects, but is (or should be) part of
ethnography in the widest sense of the word. In the 'ethnoscientificstructuralist' approach of Kaeppler artistic and social domains are 'surface
manifestations of underlying structures of the societies' (1978:262). Artistic
manifestations 'structure human experience and embody the deep structure,
or presuppositions, of a specific society' (1989:234).
In the case of Tonga (fig. 53), for example, traditional art reflects and
reinforces social status and societal rank. For this very reason the concept
'precontact fabrication' does not make much sense, except maybe, as
Kaeppler says, for old-fashioned museum curators and private collectors.
But the aesthetic value of a piece of woodcarving is not related to whether
it is made with stone tools or iron, before the European contact or after.
Kaeppler rejects the simple traditional/non-traditional dichotomy and proposes the concept 'evolved traditional'. Material objects and (other) art
forms:
must be tied to time frames that are more specific than precontact or
postcontact, pre-Christian or post-Christian. Traditional art and its
evolved forms need to be examined ethnohistorically, while studies
of nontraditional art must be related to knowledge about the functioning societies that produced it. Exploring the relationship between
artistic and societal change may help us to better comprehend the
nature of both art and society, as well as the processes of sociocultural
change. (Kaeppler 1989:236)
MADE IN TONGA
Figure 53- Map of the Kingdom of Tonga.
201
202
This is a very promising program. In this article I will only treat some
aspects of the wide range of art forms Kaeppler discusses in her work:
oratory, poetry, music, dance, sculpture, barkcloth, mats, decorative design,
architecture, spatial arrangements, and exposure to olfactory sensations
(Kaeppler 1983, 1985, 1989, 1993).
This article deals with (the production of) a number of forms of material
culture which traditionally occupy an important role in Tongan society.1 It
offers a detailed description of three kinds of women's work: the fabrication
of tree barkcloth, mats and baskets; and one kind of men's work: woodcarving, ornaments, etc. All these kinds of 'handicraft' are practised to a greater
or lesser extent on all the inhabited islands of Tonga, although most of the
tree barkcloth is made on Tongatapu and most mats come from Ha'apai.
Ecological factors play a role in this: the fertile soil of Tongatapu and Vava'u
is very suitable for the tree which provides the material for tree barkcloth,
while the arid ground on Ha'apai is less suitable for this purpose but is
suitable for the production of the materials used to make mats. Trees which
are suitable for large-scale woodcarving, such as kava bowls, are becoming
scarcer and scarcer as a result of the reduction of the rain forest.
Tree barkcloth and mats are produced for household use and for
ceremonial purposes. They do not occupy a position of much importance
within the monetary economy. The situation is different as regards the
baskets and woodcarving, which were originally important for the subsistence economy, and still are to some extent, but which are nowadays the
form of handicraft most suitable for sale and which are a part of commodity
production. The latter forms of handicraft flourish above all on the islands
which are regularly visited by cruisers with tourists, often from Australia.
The Kingdom of Tonga in Western Polynesia encompasses 150 islands,
36 of which are inhabited by some 96,000 people. The Tongan islands,
situated between Fiji, Samoa and — at a larger distance — New Zealand, have
a total surface area of 699 km2. Between 1900 and 1970 Tonga was a British
protectorate. At present, Tonga is the only lasting, independent Polynesian
kingdom. This island kingdom is divided into three parts for administrative
purposes: the Tongatapu, Ha'apai and Vava'u Groups. The Tongatapu
Group is in the south and is named after its main island Tongatapu.
Nowadays two-thirds of the population of Tonga live on this island, which
also contains the capital, Nuku'alofa. The Ha'apai Group is 150 km and the
Vava'u Group is 300 km to the north of Tongatapu.2
1
This is an adapted version of the article published in the Journal de la Société des Océanistes
97:159-169 (see Van der Grijp 1993a).
2
In 1982, in the very first week of my first fieldwork in Tonga, I had an interview with the
chiefly lady Tupou Posesi Fanua, a recognized expert of Tongan culture and a member of the
Tonga Traditions Committee. When I told her that I came from the Netherlands she replied: Tn
that case you will surely know Mister Saimen who came here many, many years ago to ask me
the same sort of questions you are asking me know. By that time he was still a young man. But
now, his hair must be as white as mine. Send him my best regards.' Recently, Tupou Posesi
Fanua's papers, interview transcripts and correspondence between 1959 and 1992 became
available on microfilm (Pacific Manuscripts Bureau of the Australian National University). The
two reels concerned contain information on tapa making, pandanus weaving, traditional
stories, verse texts, kinship and genealogies, the late Queen Salote, history and culture, in short,
a treasure of the sort of information we asked her about.
MADE IN TONGA
203
The fabrication of tapa
Tree barkcloth or tapa is made from the inner bark of the paper mulberry
tree, called hiapo in Tongan (and Broussonetia papyrifera in scientific
language).3 Tapa is an exclusively hand-made product using natural materials. Before the arrival of the first missionaries, the only item of clothing
worn by all Tongans, both men and women, was a piece of tapa wrapped
around their waist and legs (with a small mat above around their waist).
People also slept under a piece of tapa in those days (cf. Koch 1955:48-49;
Gifford 1929; McKern 1929:2-6; Martin 1817:364-367). Nowadays everyday
clothing (apart from the small mat mentioned above) consists of textiles
imported from the West, as do the sheets and/or blankets used as bedding.
The curtains used in the 'traditional' houses (fale Tonga) to separate the
bedrooms from the central living quarters were also made from pieces of
tapa. The woven coconut leaf houses have gradually been replaced during
the past decennia by houses with corrugated iron roofs and wooden walls.4
Tapa still occupies an important place in ceremonies and in the exchange
of gifts.5 Tapa is used as bridal clothing, in dancing, to wrap the corpse at
burials, and as a gift to kin, church, nobility and the royal family on certain
occasions. An average piece of tapa cloth is four metres wide and 25 metres
long. It can be given in its entirety or in pieces of varying lengths.6 Tapa and
certain mats form the koloa ('treasures') of a woman, in some way
comparable to gold or other expensive ornaments in Western society,
though the Tongan koloa have a greater emotional significance because of
their value as gifts (Weiner 1982, 1992). A tapa cloth made for personal use
is called hoku ngatu. A tapa cloth made for someone else, whether as a gift
or not, is called 'eku ngatu. At a different level, Kaeppler further distinguishes two kinds of tapa: ngatu and fuatanga. They vary in color and design:
in ngatu 'the primary lines run crosswise and intersect with a set of long lines
that run the entire length of the piece'; and in fuatanga 'the primary lines
run lengthwise and intersect with a series of crosswise lines that measure its
size'. But there is also a social difference: ngatu is used by commoners and
3
The Tongan word tapa originally referred only to the undecorated edge of a tapa cloth. lts
range was therefore much more restricted than the use of the word in most European languages.
1
This changc is common in Western Polynesia (a.o. Kooijman 1978; Rensel 1991; Simutoga
1992).
5
See Bataille-Benguigui 1985, 1993; James 1988; Kooijman 1967, 1973, 1977, 1979, 1980. The
most detailed comparative study on tapa production in Polynesia is Simon Kooijman's 1972book. The pages 297-341 deal specifically with Tonga. When I first visited the Bernice P. Bishop
Museum in Hawaii, in 1984, I was invited by a curator to have a look at the storage of Tongan
objects in the vaults of the museum, including large quantitites of tapa. When T mentioned the
name of my fellow-countryman and senior colleague the curator answered me: 'Yes, of course,
here in the museum we use Simon Kooijman's book as our tapa bible.'
6
Measured in terms of the number of c. 50 cm strips {langanga). A piece of 4 to 7 langanga
is called fola 'osi, of 8 to 10 fatuna, of 16 to 20 fatufa and of 30 to 40 fatuvalu. A full 50-strip
cloth is called launima, and a 100-strip cloth is a lautefuhi. The total length may even be 100
or 150 metres (Tamahori 1963;90).
204
MADE IN TONGA
205
fuatanga by chiefs and aspiring commoners in ritual or ceremonies
(Kaeppler 1989:219).7
The technïcal procedure for the production of tapa has hardly changed
over the centuries (plates 18 and 19)- However, there are exceptions (see
Teilhet-Fisk 1991 and her article in this volume). Apart from a few minor
changes in the tools used and in the decoration, it is as Koch wrote about
Mariner, whose detailed account of this procedure 'coulcl just as well have
been written in 1952 as in 1816' (Koch 1955:221; cf. Kooijman 1972:336).
One difference from Mariner's time imposed by the dominance of Chrïstian
churches nowadays is that the women now try to complete their koka'anga
activities (gluing and painting) by Christmas, which is often marked by a
collective exhibition of pieces of tapa and other handicrafts. They begin
beating the new feta'aki in the first month of the following year.
Mat weaving
Mats also play an important part in Tongan life. They are used for clothing
(fig. 54), housing, and as 'furniture'. The basic materials for mat weaving are
coconut palm and pandanus leaves. Forexample, the walls, doors and roofs
Figure 54. Man wearing a large waist mat (ta'ovala). The man, who is a chief's attendant
(matapule), is presenting a large living pig in a cage during a royal kava ceremony on the
island of 'Uiha in Ha'apai, 1993. (Photo by Paul van der Grijp)
The way in which tapa design is determined by social context is, according to Kaeppler,
analogous with thepresence or absence of human figures carved on old Tongan war clubs. Also
these are to be linked with 'contexts that vary with the rank and prestige of their owners and
users' (Kaeppler 1989:219).
206
of the houses used to be made ofwoven coconut palm leaf mats (polo). The
undercarpet (takapaii), 1.5 metre x 0.5 metre, which was laid directly on top
of the sand and covered with other mats, was also made of pola, Pola are
made by weaving the 'fingers' of the two halves of the coconut palm leaves
together, resulting in a long, narrow mat (for example, 50 centimetres x 250
centimetres) with the original central stem (palalafa) running along one of
the long sides. The pola are woven from the young leaves of the coconut
palm while thcy are still fresh. They automatically turn from green to pale
yellow in the course of use. Pola are used not only in the construction of
traditional houses but also as place mats forfood (fakaha'atu'iaorpola kaï),
which are also known as pola for short.8 Othcr mats were made from
pandanus leaves, which were also used in the making of baskets, bags, fans
and other products. The pola and the ta'ovala (waist mats) are produced by
individuals; all other mats are generally woven in groups (with three to six
women per group). Pola are woven by both men and women; all the other
weaving is done exclusively by women (fig. 55).
The pandanus tree (belonging to the family of the Pandanaceae) is the
other basic material for mat weaving.9 Once the pandanus leaf (_lou) has
reached the right age, it is cut off close to the trunk and both the sharp teeth
on the edges and the central stem are removed. Most pandanus leaves, such
Figure 55. Women plaiting a mat, Matuku, Ha'apai, 1983. (Photo by Paul van der Grijp)
1
For this purpose Tongans usc the Cocus nucifera, the dominant [ree on the isiands. See for
a description of the multifunctional use of this tree: Van der Grijp (1991).
' See for the scientific names of the different types of pandanus and other plants used as basic
material: Yuncker (1959).
MADE IN TONGA
207
as lou tofua, are boiled for a few minutes and then bleached in brine and
sim to turn their colour from green to white; some leaves, like the loupaongo
and the lou tutu'üa, are hung in a dark place to dry, resulting in a dark colour
in the case of the lou paongo. The finest type of pandanus turns a shiny white
(fihu) after long processing and produces a silky finish when it is woven.
Different kinds of pandanus leaves are used as the material for mats to
sit on, sleep on, to wear around the waist and for ornamental mats (Koch
1955:205-206). The mats for sitting on (papa) measure 1 metre x 2.5 metres
and are made from the lou paongo pandanus. Usually, they are stocked
rolled up. At special occasions, but also in daily use, they are spread over
the floor (over the takapaü) in the wooden houses (fale Tonga). The lotaha
sleeping mats (Hterally 'one layer') measure 2 x 1.5 m. They are made from
lou tofua pandanus and are decorated on two sides with woollen fringes in
bright and variegated colours. They are used as the lowest mat for sleeping
on, or as a mat on top of the papa for sitting on. Tongans travelling from one
island to another prefer to take this mat with them as sleeping equipment.
The lotaha mats are decorated with interwoven geometrie figures in black.
The fringes are decorated with bright coloured European wool.10 The fala
tutu'üa mats have the same functions as the lotaha, but are made from
tutu 'ila pandanus leaves, as the name suggests. The fala tofua mat measures
2 metres x 1.5 metres and is made from doublé woven tofua leaves (in
contrast to the lotaha, which is made from the same leaves but is only woven
in one layer). Lou paongo is interwoven with it for decorative purposes. The
fala tofua forms the middle mat of a complete bed, and when it becomes
old it is used as the lowest mat. This mat is also used as a single sleeping
mat and is also given at weddings and burials. The fala paongo is made from
lou paongo pandanus like the papa, but from narrower strips. This fine mat,
usually undecorated, is highly valued. It is the upper sleeping mat and the
most important one in the eyes of the Tongans. It is also given at weddings
and is used as the mat on which the corpse is laid during a burial ceremony.
A number of Tongans have now followed the Western example of using
beds, chairs and tables - in some cases home-made items of furniture - but
in the vast majority of Tongan houses people still lie on mats, sleep on mats,
and eat from mats (covered with banana palm leaves). Besides the mats for
utilitarian purposes, there are ornamental mats (falafihu, made from lou kie
pandanus), which are mainly kept and given as gifts on special occasions,
such as the wedding of a close relative or friend or their children. These mats
are used as an article of clothing by the bride or to wrap the corpse in at a
burial. According to Koch (1955:208) the 'daughters of chiefs' also slept
under the fala fihu. Finally, the kie Tonga (which is also made from lou kie),
the finest and most valuable of the mats, is an article of clothing for both
bride and groom and is worn at religious ceremonies. It is especially
ornamental mats of this kind which belong to the koloa, the treasures of the
woman.
All Tongans, both men and women, wear a small mat around their waist,
the ta'ovala, as a sign of self-respect and respect for other people on
10
Koch (1955:106) dates the origin of the last mentioned decoration in the beginning of this
centuiy.
208
Sundays and feast days, ceremonial occasions, during mourning for a
relative and in the presence of a Tongan of higher rank. The commonest of
all the Tongan ta'ovala is the ta'ovala tofua, named after the material used
(tofua = sort of pandanus). The ta'ovala kie, which is made from lou kie
pandanus, was formerly only worn by high chiefs (Koch 1955:207), but it is
now worn by commoners too. It is reserved for special occasions, such as
weddings and religious festivals. The ta'ovala kiekie should also be mentioned in this connection. This is not a mat, but a woven belt from which
hang plaited strands 75 centimetres long. This belt is woven from lou tofua
pandanus and has the same significance as the ta 'ovala tofua, but it is only
worn by (mainly young) women.
All mats and tapa cloths must be aired in the yard on a sunny day every
three weeks to prevent them from going mouldy and to keep insects out of
the products which have been made with such care. Holes in tapa and mats
are seen as a bad omen, according to some of my informants. The same
applies to tapa and mats which have been nibbled at by rats. Tongans see
this as a sign that someone in their immediate circle will become seriously
ill or die. It is interesting, by the way, to compare this with the common
Tongan interpretation of dreams. To dream that one receives a lot of small
change in coin (seniti) is a good omen. It means that a child will be born
or that someone is going to get married. But to dream about bank notes
(pa'anga) is a sign presaging death.
Basket weaving
Baskets have been woven in Tonga for centuries (fig. 56). They are
mainly used to carry and store food and small items. They can be roughly
divided into two groups: those woven from coconut palm leaves and those
woven from pandanus leaves. The kato lou niu (or kato tokonaki), used to
transport tuberous vegetables, coconuts, etc, is woven from the green
coconut palm leaf. The leaf is slit down the middle, the side leaves of each
half are then woven together and joined at the bottom of the basket with a
thick braid. The top of the basket is open and is very tough because it
contains the slit central stem. It has an elongated oval shape. The basket can
be made in ten minutes by both men and women, and it is seen as a sort of
disposable product. Women use the coconut palm leaf to make the kato kai
tunu to carry cooked food. This is made in the same way as the kato lou niu,
except that the top is closed. 'Oa baskets, used to carry fish, shellfish, copra,
small fruit and sand, are made by both men and women in the same way and
from the same material as the kato lou niu, but the leaf is younger and they
weave it more finely. It takes between half an hour and an hour to weave
an 'oa, but it can be used continually for months.
The woven pandanus baskets and bags are mainly made by women.
Mention should be made of the kato lou 'akau (made from loupaongo and/
or lou tofua leaves), a rectangular bag with handles for carrying books and
small articles; the kato tongi, which is similar but is woven from wider strips
of leaf; the kato lou kie, a tiny handbag or purse for women, made from lou
kie; the kato tu'a niu, a ball-shaped handbag for women, made from lou
MADE IN TONGA
209
Figure 56. Making a basket (detail), f Photo by Paul van der Grijp)
paongo and/or lou tofua woven around the secondary sterns of the coconut
palm leaf in a spiral technique: the kato 'alu, the traditional bridal basket in
the form of a small, oval basket for the groom and a large round basket for
the bride, woven from the split sterns of the 'alu (a native creeper with
tendrils) in the spiral technique around the secondary sterns of the coconut
palm leaf. Somc woven articles are decorated with pieces of tapa.11
Fans (0 are also woven. They are called after the leaf Oou) from which
they are made. such as i lou niu from coconut palm and i lou 'akau from the
pandanus leaf. The edges of the fans are often decorated with chicken
feathers. Sandals (teka) and hats used to be made from pandanus leaves. but
have now been replaced almost everywhere by plastic sandals and textile
hats whïch can be purchased even in the smallest shops. During the past few
years, old techniques and materials have increasingly been used to make
new kinds of baskets and other woven articles for the tourist industry, such
as washing baskets (kato 'uit), cradles (kato pepé), cradles for baby dolls
(kata tamapud), drinks tables (tepilè), serving trays Uouloü), waste paper
baskets, fruit baskets and place mats.
Case studies on Vava'u
I will present here some of my own fieldwork case studies of wickerwork
and tapa production in households on the three island groups. The first case
is a household in a village on Vava'u. A number of kinds of pandanus are
11
See for more technical details and cultural background: Koch (1955:205-217): Martin
(1817:367-368); Ewins (1982); Conner(1983); Kirch (1984); Marsaudon (1986, 1993: chapter 9):
see also Koch (1961).
210
to be found on the edge of the plot of land beside the road to the village:
100 tofua, five totoio, eight tapahina and fifteen paongo. Most of the
pandanus harvest is processed together with the veins of the coconut palm
leaf to make baskets for sale to the tourists who arrive in cruisers from time
to time. There are also 200 paper mulberry plants (hiapó), which are used
to make tapa for domestic consumption. Unlike the other crops, mulberry
and pandanus are planted by the head of the household, Funaki, together
with his wife and daughters. (All personal names are pseudonyms) Pisila,
Funaki's wife, is seen as the owner of the plants. Cutting, or harvesting, is
only carried out by the women. Amelia, a married daughter who lives next
door, makes free use of the plants. Pisila herself also cuts the mulberry on
the plots belonging to three relatives of Funaki. One of them has more than
1,000 small mulberry trees on his plot, considerably more than the 200 on
Funaki's plot, since Funaki prefers to concentrate on cultivating vanilla and
other cash crops. If Pisila needs mulberry to make tapa, she can simply go
to the neighbouring plots of three relatives and cut as much mulberry as she
wants. She asks for their permission in advance and does not have to pay
them anything. Pisila regards herself as fortunate in this respect, because it
is becoming increasingly common nowadays for Tongan women to have to
buy the raw materials for tapa elsewhere. Pisila can still obtain the mulberry
she needs free of charge in the traditional way through relatives.
Pisila makes on average a single tapa cloth of 50 strips (a launima) each
year. In other words, depending on the existence of full-grown mulberry on
her own land or on that of certain relatives, she may make four launima in
a single year and then not make any more tapa at all for two or three years
in succession. Pisila is assisted in this work by one of her daughters, Sela.
For gluing and painting the tapa Pisila and Sela belong to a women's group
(kautaha fefinë) with 25 members, of whom twelve or so are constantly
present at any one time to make a tapa cloth. Pisila weaves an average of
three fala mats per annum, while her daughter Sela makes two lotaha mats.
The family's 17-year-old daughter, Ana, is 'not yet skilied enough to weave
fine mats, but it is hoped that she will learn it in the near future', claims her
mother. The 12-year-old adopted daughter, Seine, has just started to learn
weaving and she now helps her mother to make the bases for cradles and
fruit bowls.
While tapa and mats are only intended for personal use and for the
ceremonial exchange of gifts, the baskets which the women weave are also
sold and bring in the largest portion of the household income. Each year,
Pisila makes some 50 (woven) cradles, 10 doll's cradles, 30 washing baskets,
50 trays and 30 drinks tables, while the 17-year-old daughter, who is still
learning from her mother and who does not work as quickly, makes 20
cradles, 20 doll's cradles, 25 trays, 15 drinks tables and 50 five- or six-piece
sets of place-mats. The materials used by Pisila and her daughters are the
side veins of the coconut palm leaf and the leaves of the tofua, totoio,
tapahina and paongo pandanus. The main customers are tourists from the
cruisers which occasionaly visit Vava'u. The number of cruisers due to visit
Vava'u each year is always uncertain. There were more than a dozen in 1984,
and in January and February 1985 there were four a month. These are always
the busiest months because they coincide with the Australian summer
MADE IN TONGA
211
holiday. The rest of the year there is one cruiser a month at most. In 1984,
Pisila and her daughters earned a total of T$ 2,000 from selling baskets and
other wickerwork.
Most girls learn the basic techniques of basket and mat weaving in school
from the age of eleven. As for the fine points of the art, they learn these at
home from an experienced sister, aunt or — as in the previous example —
mother. By the way, not all Tongan women know how to weave. Amelia,
for example, the daughter of Pisila who lives next door, occasionally tries
to weave a doll's cradle, but she can barely manage it. 'There are problems
every time I have to try to get a tourist to buy the faulty product', Pisila sighs.
Amelia's only successes so far are trays, around 15 each year. Amelia herself
blames it on the fact that she is too busy with the children to be able to
concentrate on her weaving properly, but her mother's version is simply that
she is all fingers and thumbs.
The entire basket production in Funaki's household is intended for the
tourist trade. Each time the radio announces the arrival of a cruiser, Pisila
and her daughters are busy weaving baskets day and night, only interrupting
their work to snatch some sleep or to have a quick meal. They often do not
sleep at all on the eve of the arrival of the ship; the women work all through
the night by the light of an oil lamp. Funaki helps with the actual selling
because he is the only member of the household with an English vocabulary,
restricted though it is. Sometimes Pisila makes and sells baskets commissioned by the shop in the hotel of the regional capital Neiafu, but she prefers
to sell directly to tourists instead of going through an intermediary because
she earns more for the same products that way.
At the beginning of 1989, the income from household crafts by the
women had fallen drastically. As many as 20 cruise ships used to visit Vava'u
each year, but not a single one came in the previous year. A smaller cruise
ship did moor in January 1989, but Pisila was 65 by now and not prepared
to make an extra effort. She says that she is too old and tired for last-minute
weaving at night. Her only sale in 1988 was T$ 50 for a woven cradle which
she sold to the passengers on a visiting American yacht. Though the
commercial side is thus poor, Pisila and her daughter Sela made seven mats
and a tapa in 1988. She gave one mat and one tapa at a funeral of a close
relative (her sister's son). Pisila and Sela are now making tapa for the
imminent wedding of Ana. This is another reason why commercial activities
have slackened. The women rate the production of household crafts for
weddings and funerals more highly than earning money.
Case studies on Ha'apai and Tongatapu
The second case study concerns a group of three closely related
households who use the same plot of land on the island of Matuku in the
Ha'apai Group. Pandanus is the main cash erop here - in fact it is the only
one apart from the coconut palm (copra). The land cultivated by members
of the households contains 350 pandanus trees, divided as follows: 230 are
Mo'unga's, 100 are Maile's and 20 are Sefanaia's (these are the heads of the
three households). After being plucked, the long pandanus leaves are rolled
21 2
up, left to dry in the sun for a few days on the grassy areas between the
houses in the village, and then rolled up again and sold on the market in
Tonga's capital, Nuku'alofa. Mats are also woven from the dried pandanus
leaves, partly for domestic consumption and partly for retail. There is no
paper mulberry here and the three households do not produce any tapa.
'There isn't room on our small piece of land', they say, 'and besides it is too
expensive to buy the material for tapa (the feta'aki) from other people'.
So, on this island the pandanus tree is a cash erop. A close relative of
Mo'unga, his mother's brother's wife, has a permanent stand on the market
in Tonga's capital Nuku'alofa, where she sells the pandanus to women who
want to weave mats but do not have land of their own or the use of relatives'
land. The dried pandanus leaves yield T$ 60 a month for Mo'unga's
household and T$ 80 a month for Maile's household. In Sefanaia's household the pandanus is only used for the domestic weaving of mats. A number
of mats are also sold by the same relative on the market in Nuku'alofa.
Mo'unga's wife makes four or five fala mats a year. They are called 'ten feet'
(tekumi) because of their size (1.5 x 3 m). Maile's wife and the mother of
Sefanaia, who lives with him, each produce three or four a year. Maile's
eldest daughter belongs to a different working group (kautaha lalangd)
from her mother. She and the other participants in this team of weavers
produce sixorseven lotaha 2L year.12 The daughter also makes some ta'ovala
each year together with another woman. Almost all these mats are sold in
Nuku'alofa. All the households also make coconut palm leaf (kato lou niu)
food bags for their own use. Mo'unga's wife sells mats for around T$ 180 a
year, while Maile's wife and Sefanaia each earn around T$ 140 for them.
The pandanus is not seen as exclusively female property in these three
households. The men also play an active part in drying the leaves. Weaving
the mats, however, is a task exclusively reserved for the women. They carry
out the work in groups of five, the kautaha lalanga, which work on a mat
of one member of the group for two weeks at a time.
Our third casus is a household in the village of Vaini on the main island
of Tongatapu. On their plot of land there are 60 pandanus trees and 500
paper mulberry trees for baskets, mats and tapa. The pandanus and the
mulberry are planted by Sioeli and harvested by his wife, Tupou. The plants
are also seen as her property because she is the one who uses them. On
average she makes one tapa (Jaunimd), six papa mats, ten lotaha mats and
two fala mats each year. She does this work by herself and not in a kautaha
lalanga, and all the mats are for domestic use or as gifts to relatives.
Tourist industry and marketing
Other products for the tourist industry not already mentioned range from
woodcarving to ornaments. Wooden carved objects mark a break with the
past. In the first half of the 19th century all wooden carvings and other
images of 'heathen' spirits and deities were burnt at the instigation of the
missionaries and their converts (cf. Thomas 1991; Van der Grijp 1989, 1992,
12
The lotaha are in two sizes: 1.5 m x 3 m and 3 m x 4.5 m.
MADE IN TONGA
213
1993b). The contemporary woodcarvers who work for the tourists have no
authentic models to fall back on. They generally copy images (jikï) of the
gods of the original Polynesian populations of Hawaii, Tahiti and the Cook
Islands (see Barrow 1979; P. Kirch 1985; Kooijman 1964). Only very few
'heathen' sacred images from Tonga have been preserved in the whole
world. They were removed by the first European discoverers and are now
located in various museums in Europe and the Pacific (cf. Clunie 1986:8081, 165-166; Hiroa 1935, 1937; Kaeppler 1971, 1974). Tongan woodcarvers
also make wooden masks, clubs, walking sticks, images of fish and turtles,
and so on for the tourists. The kinds of wood used are the mahogany-like
milo wood, the heavy puopua wood (Guettarda spec), and the aromatic,
rare and thus expensive ahi or sandalwood (Santalum).
On the other hand, there is continuity in the manufacture of kava bowls
(tano'a) and tapa beaters ('iké), although the production of these items
nowadays is negligible compared with the woodcarving that is done for the
tourists. Kava bowls and tapa beaters have been in use for generations and
besides, the kava bowls imported from Samoa and Fiji are much cheaper
than those that are made in Tonga itself. This is connected with the shortage
of wood on the Tonga Islands. As a result, the large blocks of wood needed
for the manufacture of kava bowls, which are cut in sections from very old
trees, are too expensive for the majority of Tongans. The small-scale
manufacture of ornaments for the tourist industry should also be mentioned
in this connection: rings, arm bands, necklaces and earrings are made from
materials like black coral, mother-of-pearl and other kinds of shells, shark's
teeth, bone, tuitui nuts and coconut shells.
Another aspect is the marketing of handicrafts. Many Tongans become
handicraft seller on a part time base to earn some money. According to
Debra Kirch, it is this association with economie necessity that initiates
status degradation for the Tongans concerned: 'For many, selling handicrafts
is a public admission of poverty and of one's inability (for whatever reason)
to succeed in culturally valued occupations' (D. Kirch 1984:vii-viii). Tourists
who are not aware of these cultural values often bargain about prices and
fo ree the sellers in a position of competitive and culturally inappropriate
behavior. The ideal relation between sellers and buyers in Tongan eyes
would be a relation of cooperation and mutual trust, and without competition. A manifestation would be passive marketing techniques and uniform
prices for similar products.
However, under the pressure of bargaining tourists and economie needs,
some sellers eventually drop their prices. In doing so they break the market
etiquette since they are in overt competition with their collegues. They are
considered as 'socially disruptive and as 'without empathy' for other sellers'.
Western tourists have an antagonistic and competitive market model. As
strangers they inform one another about the 'convenient' buying and selling
behavior and they distrust Tongan prices. However, sellers 'manage this
status degradation by using covert ridicule to disqualify tourist statements
and actions as irrelevant' (D. Kirch 1984:ix). This covert ridicule is expressed
in Tongan among Tongans. Tourists remain unaware of it. This is important
since awarenes of the ridicule might antagonize the buyer-seller relationship
and break another code of the market etiquette (see also Hahn 1990).
214
Conclusions
One of the most important changes in the transition of Polynesian art
from traditional to contemporary, according to Kaeppler (1989), is a shift
from an 'aesthetic of inequality' to an 'aesthetic of equality'. By inequality,
she means genealogical and quasi-genealogical inequality, especially the
difference between commoners and chiefs, rather than economie inequality
(this is Kaeppler's distinction). In New Zealand and Hawaii inequality in
artistic production is becoming less and less evident because nowadays
everybody is supposed to be able to become an artist or to acquire works
of art.
I am not in a position to judge whether it really is true or not in the two
Polynesian societies mentioned by Kaeppler in this respect, New Zealand
and Hawaii, but social inequality in artistic production is certainly not
becoming 'less and less evident' in Tonga. My hypothesis here is that
recently in Tonga a new 'aesthetics of inequality' has developed: an
inequality between the sexes. This corresponds with a new, contemporary
form of asymmetrical ideology which also functions in other important
domains of daily life, for example in agriculture and the ownership of the
products thereof (Van der Grijp 1988, 1993c, 1993d, 1994). The different
sorts of handicraft are now 'being rated differently by the Tongans
themselves as a result of Western influence. The mainly male producers of
woodcarvings are seen by many people as artists, while the female
producers of tapa and woven articles do not enjoy this status (cf. Urbanowicz 1978; D. Kirch 1984; Hölper 1986). The paradox is that male woodcarvers actually produce (what Kaeppler once called) 'airport art'
(1979:185), while most women still make tapa and mats on a large scale
which function in traditional gift giving and ceremonies.
In Tonga, all the crops on the land are the property of male members of
the households - or at least are considered as such - with the exception of
those crops which provide the raw materials for the handicrafts performed
by women: the paper mulberry and the pandanus for making tapa, baskets
and mats. The paper mulberry and the pandanus are usually planted by men
and women in conjunction. They are harvested exclusively by women, who
are the owners of these plants. In our examples there is only one exception
to this rule: pandanus is the main commercial erop on the small coral island
of Matuku in Ha'apai. Here it is not regarded as the exclusive property of
the women concerned, but the men own it too - at least that is how the
participants see it. The actual transition from production to meet one's needs
(subsistence) to production for the market apparently implies fundamental
consequences for the strict separation of male and female preserves in the
past.
I would like to conclude with a remark on museum affairs. There is no
genuine museum in Tonga to date, but the Methodist Toloa College on
Tongatapu has an antiquities room. There are no 'heathen' images here after all, this Methodist boarding school was set up by missionaries. The
antiquities room can be visited by special permission from the head of the
school, but this is not intended for the public at large, including most
Tongans. A National Cultural Center was built in 1988 with Japanese
MADE IN TONGA
215
development aid. lts focus is not on antiquities, but on contemporary forms
of cultural expression such as song, dance and the production of tapa,
wickerwork and (mainly tourist) woodcarving. The centre does have a
museum section, but the collection is rather small (some showcases and a
few larger objects) and is insignificant compared with the Methodist
antiquities room. Besides the latter collection, I have seen vast quantities of
ethnographical realia from Tonga in storage in museums in Suva, Auckland
and Honolulu. A more effective policy on the part of the Tongan National
Center should at least be able to acquire some of this material on loan.
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de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 148:31-58.
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the Polynesian Kingdom of Tonga. Journal de la Société des Océanistes
97:159-169.
1993b Christian confrontations in paradise, Catholic proselytizing of a Protestant
mission in Oceania. Anthropos 88:135-152.
1993c After the vanillah Harvest, stains in the Tongan land tenure system.
Journal of the Polynesian Society 102:233-253.
216
1993d
1994
Islanders of the South, production, kinship and ideology in the Polynesian
Kingdom of Tonga. Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor
Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 154. Leiden: KITLV Press'
Agriculture became very popular, socio-cultural impact of the Tongan
squash boom. Paper presented at the conference on 'Knowing Oceania,
constituting knowledge and identities' of the European Society for
Oceanists. Basel, Switzerland, December 15-17.
Hahn, Elizabeth P.
1990
Raising a few eyebrows in Tonga. In: Philip R. DeVita (ed.), The humbled
anthropologist, tales from the Pacific. Pp. 69-76. Belmont, California:
Wadsworth.
Hiroa, Te Rangi (= Peter Buck)
1935
Material representatives of Tongan and Samoan gods. Journal of the
Polynesian Society 44:48-53, 85-96, 153-162.
1937
Additional wooden images from Tonga. Journal of the Polynesian Society
46:74-82.
Hölper, Hanneliese
1986
Turismus in Tonga, eine geographische Untersuchung zur Entwicklungsrelevanzeinesjungen Wirtschaftszweiges in einem traditionsreichen Inselstaat im Südpazific. Aachener Geographische Arbeiten 18. Aachen:
Geographisches Institut.
James, Kerry
1988
Making mats and barkcloth in the kingdom of Tonga. Australian Government's Soutri Pacific Cultures Fund.
1971
Eighteenth Century Tonga, new interpretations of Tongan society and
material culture at the time of Captain Cook. Man 6:204-220.
1974
Cook voyage provenance of the 'artificial curiosities' of Bullock's
Museum. Man 9:68-92.
1978
Melody, drone, and decoration, underlying structures and surface manifestations in Tongan art and society. In: Michael Greenhalgh and Vincent
Megaw (eds.), Art in society, studies in styles, culture and aesthetics.
Pp. 261-274. London: Duckworth.
1979
A survey of Polynesian art with selected reinterpretations. In: S. M. Mead
(ed.), Exploring the Visual art of Oceania. Pp. 180-191- Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
1983
Polynesian dance, with a selection for contemporary performances. Honolulu: Alpha Delta Kappa.
1985
Hawaiian art and society, traditions and transformations. In: Anthony
Hooper and Judith Huntsman (eds.), Transformations of Polynesian
culture. Pp. 105-131. Auckland: The Polynesian Society.
1989
Art and aesthetics. In: Alan Howarcl and Robert Borofsky (eds.), Developments in Polynesian ethnology. Pp. 211-240. Honolulu: University of
Hawaii Press.
1993
Poetics and Politics of Tongan Laments and Eulogies. American Ethnologist 20:474-501.
MADE IN TONGA
217
Kirch, Debra
1984
Tourism as conflict in Polynesia, status degradation among Tongan
handicraft sellers. Ph.D. thesis, University of Hawaii.
Kirch, Patrick V.
1985
Feathered gods and fishhooks, an introduction to Hawaiian archaeology
andprehistory. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
Koch, Gerd
1955
Südsee — gestern und heute, derKulturwandel bei den Tonganern und der
Versuch einer Deutung dieser Entwicklung. Kulturgeschichtliche Forschungen. Braunschweig: Albert Limbach Verlag.
1961
Die materielle Kultur der Ellice-Inseln. Berlin: Museum für Völkerkunde.
Kooijman, Simon
1964
AncientTahitian god figures. Journal of the Polynesian Society73:110-125.
19Ó7
Massaproductie van boombaststof in West-Polynesië. Verre Naasten Naderbij 1(2):9-16.
1972
Tapa in Polynesia. Bulletin 234. Honolulu: Bernice P. Bishop Museum
Press.
1973
Tapa techniques and tapa patterns in Polynesia, a regional differentiation.
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1977
Tapa on Moce Island, Fiji, a traditional handicraft in a cbanging society.
Mededelingen Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 21. Leiden: Brill.
1978
Continuity and change in houses and house construction, the case of the
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1979
Traditional handicraft in a changing society, manufacture and function of
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1980
Ceremonial exchange and art on Moce Island (Fiji), functional interpretation of a tapa design. Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land-en Volkenkunde 136:4151.
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1986
Le travail des femmes dans Ie royaume polynésien de Tonga. In:
Dominique Champault et Jean Jamin (réd.), Cóté femmes, approches
ethnologiques. Pp. 175-192. Paris: 1'Harmattan.
1993
Les premiers fruits, parenté, identité sexuelle et pouvoirs en Polynésie
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1817
An account of the natives of the Tonga Islands... compiled and arranged
from the extensive Communications of Mr. William Mariner, several years
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McKern, W.C.
1929
Archaeology of Tonga. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 60. Honolulu.
218
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1991
Housing and social relationships on Rotuma. In: Rotutna, Hanua Pumue.
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1992
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la Société des Océanistes 44. Paris: Musée de 1'Homme.
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1963
Cultural change in Tongan bark cloth manufacture. M.A. thesis, University of Auckland.
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1991
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1978
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219
11
NGALA ART, A STYLE AND ITS AFFINITIES
(EAST SEPIK PROVINCE, PAPUA NEW GUINEA)
Douglas Newton
For years I have owed my friend Simon Kooijman an intellectual debt
which I have at last a pleasant opportunity to acknowledge. We first met
when he was the guest curator of an exhibition on The Art of Lake Sentani
held at The Museum of Primitive Art, New York, in 1959. About that time
there was a general sense, based on classificatory concepts both necessary
and useful then, that 'tribal' societies were circumscribed entities, with
discrete art styles perfectly distinct from each other. Kooijman's discussion
of Humboldt Bay-Lake Sentani relations, in his elegant and now classic text
for the exhibition's catalogue, dispelled that fallacy for me, and helped to
clarify the reasons for the many anomalies in Sepik River art styles. The
following is a discussion of one such problem.
NGALA HISTORY
Place and people
Ngala or Nggala (perhaps properly Nggalera) is the native name of a
small village near the upper Sepik River (fig. 57)1. The Berlin-Expedition of
1912-1913 came close to phonetic accuracy in calling it 'Kara' (Behrmann
1917; 1922: map; 1951-1952:325). On more recent maps it generally appears
as 'Swagup', or some orthographic variation of it; but though current among
other local groups, this name actually refers to a nearby site on the left bank
of the Sepik (Kaufmann 1968:65), formerly often used by the Administration
as a meeting place with the Ngala people.
1
Ngala is the officially recognized name. Cognates occur in other upper Sepik contexts. For
instance, Ngga'alakwa'ari was the name of one of the three early hamlets which united to form
the Manambu's first village, Asiti, preceding the present Avatep. Harrison (1990: passim) gives
the name Nggela'angkw for an Avatep clan-pair; he points out that nggela means 'black'; garra
or gein is the Bahinemo term for sacred objects, also used by the Wogamusin for sacred slitgongs. The Ngala word for 'black' is heard phonetically as nggelya (see Laycock 1965:163).
220
Between the Sepik River and its southcrn tributary the April (or Nigsek)
River there runs a narrow and winding waterway the Ngala call Kadauwiya.
About its middle it is met by another waterway from the southeast, Talpo.
Ngala, at about l42°30'E 4'13'S, is on its banks a few meters off the junction.
A little south is Kwaliyo, a lake used as a meeting place with other groups.
Southeast again is the terminus of Ndjanggaramb (in Manambu; Ngala:
Gapfa), a long waterway which passes for 40 km as the crow flies through
swampland at the feet of the Hunstein Mountains. About mid-course it
connects to a lake where Wagu, a Bahinemo village, is situated; at its eastern
outlet it joins the Sepik near Yambun.
Ngala was buik in two rows of houses, one on either side of the stream
and facing it. It consisted of three wards, Nggraiyo (with the ceremonial
house Amuwasi) and Dogoshoa (ceremonial house Kaukauwul) on the east,
Wolbi (ceremonial house Kokombauwi) on the west. In 1949 the village
numbered 22 dweiling houses and two ceremonial houses (Ormsby 1949)By 1977-1978 the east bank had a row of about 18 dwelling-houses, and a
ceremonial house at each end; the west bank had 14 dwellings and a
ceremonial house at the north end (Ruff and Ruff 1990:577). Formerly
watchtowers were situated at the approaches to the place.
As to the history of the ceremonial houses: members of the BerlinExpedition of 1912-1913 visited Ngala in September 1913 and made a
221
collection there2, but Behrmann (1950-1951:325) states that at the time no
ceremonial house existed, though this seems improbable; a ceremonial
house, or houses, may have been mistaken for dweiling houses. As noted,
in 1949 there were two ceremonial houses. In 1964 the ceremonial houses
were of no great size, were in shabby condition. By 1966 Nggraiyo's house,
Amuwasi, had been stripped of cladding, leaving its frame, second story
platform and slit-gongs exposed; it had not been rebuilt thirteen years later.
However, in 1966-1967 two entirely new houses were built for Wolbi and
Dogoshoa; and these were said to be in the truly traditional style of the
village.3
The Administration electoral roll for 1967 (Territory 1967:308-310)
showed 44 males and 38 females qualified to vote. By 1973 local census
records showed a total of 132 people, including 69 males and 63 females.
Two men and one woman were presumed to have been born about
1906-1910; 28 had been born since 1960. Ngala was thus not a large
community even by Sepik standards, and there are no indications it was ever
larger. Nevertheless, as late as 25 years ago it had a formidable reputation:
isolated and determinedly conservative, it was viewed locally as a nest of
headhunters, cannibals, and above all dangerous sorcerers.
The Ngala were aware of the people living along the Sepik (Namb nggu)
from Malu, the Manambu (Mangsem) village in the east, to Kubkain, a
Wogamusin (Yaruwiyo) village in the west. The Yessan-Mayo (Wakaru or
Bwadipf, and Mayd) live in between. The Ngala were also acquainted with
the Kwoma in the huls to the northeast, the Kauimbei (Wari) to the north;
and to the south the Bahinemo (Wagu), Sanio (Bega) and Bitara. Their
primary trade was with Yessan and Kubkain - with the latter there was an
ancestral connection (Newton 1975:199). Trade included foodstuffs and the
cooking pots jars made by Ngala women.4 The pots were traded on
westwards from Kubkain to Hauna (an eastern Iwam village near the
Leonhard Schultze River) in exchange for reeds Kubkain made into baskets
and sleeping-bags in turn traded back to Ngala. Some intermarriage seems
to have occurred with the Bitara and the Bahinemo, the latter being allies
and, for reasons that will appear, considered virtually kinsmen.
Well-remembered conflicts took place between the Ngala and the Manambu
of Yambun village and Malu, Kubkain, Yessan, and the Kauimbei (who were
decimated).5 The Ngala also raided at least once Brugnowi, the Iatmul
(Mbené) enclave from the middle Sepik.
The language called Ngala is only spoken in this village, and is a member
of the Ndu Family, within which it has the lowest number of cognates (an
2
Kaufmann (1990:593); Kelm (1966, 2: figs. 166-182) (n.b. fig. 170 is a Kwoma painting); Kelm
(1968, 3:628)
3
Hauser-Schaublin (1989: fig. 181), c. Kaufmann photograph, is a front view of Kokombauwi.
See Newton (1971:38-39) for plan, elevation and section of the house.
4
Those shown in Kelm (1966, II: figs. 147, 148), collected at Wagamush, are probably
examples.
5
About 1942, the remaining Kauimbei moved to and became integrated with Yasyin village
(Martin 1962).
222
average of 33.3%) with other members. On this and glottochronological
grounds, Laycock (1966:185) suggests that 'Ngala split off [first] from the
common ancestor of the Ndu Family ... at an early date [possibly on the order
of 3,000-2,500 years ago] and has continued to develop largely independently since that time.' (Relationships with non-Ndu languages are undefined
except that Wogamusin is mentioned.) Ngala oral traditions hardly support
Laycock's propositions, at least as far as time goes; although Laycock stated
that these were relative, not absolute.
Legendary origins
The village's configuration reflects the Ngala conception of their history.6
Like many other Sepik communities, the Ngala are highly conscious that they
are not a monolithic group, but that each ward is an amalgam of clans with
differing origins. These origins are explained in a number of stories, the
casts of which are ancestral creator supernaturals. We may hope, even
expect, that they provide a schematic version of historical realities.
Each of the three wards is associated in general speech with an animal:
Nggraiyo with Cuscus, Dogoshoa with Eagle, Wolbi with Crocodile. Nggraiyo has Sapanokwa, Ambuken and Kokopfa clans; Dogoshoa has Manggopfa
and Deb(?) clans; Wolbi has Yenuwi, Lumo and Bobapfa clans.7 Each clan
has its own myth about its ancestors' travels, each starting out from a hill or
mountain. Here, as conspicuously among the Iwam of the May River to the
west (Yoshida 1987), a paramount theme is encounter.8 The primal totemic
ancestor of one group encounters the equivalent ancestor of another group,
they join forces and travel onwards together to their destination, the present
Ngala. Eventually they and their canoes become water-spirits.9
The Wolbi anthropogenic myth takes place at Boba or Yitpapa, the hill
at the eastern end of the range (Kwoma: Ndugupa) where Ambunti
government station now stands. It is identical with the Abelam myth of a
cassowary creatrix, here called Wurugwadep or Kweianui. The myth
recounts the origin of the Ngala (younger brothers) and Bahinemo (elder
brothers) from bundies of the cassowary's feathers. It is known along this
6
This may not now be the fact. It has been reported that, apparently about 15 years ago, the
people abandoned the traditional site for a new one on the Sepik River itself.
7
An unpublished list made by L. W. Bragge includes several more names, some perhaps only
versions of each other. All clan names take the Ndu nyan, ('son', 'daughter', or 'small' according
to qualifier) as a suffix (-p/a may also be part of the suffix). Only the short versions are given
here.
s
One evening in 1967 I witnessed a practical example of this at Ngala itself. An Ngala man
approached my Yambun companions (of Sambarap clan), and asked whether they had
anything to eat. When they replied (untruthfully) they had not, he ran through a list of possible
totemic beings they might all have in common. (There was a certain amount of charade about
this, as the elder Yambun's father was known to have had close relations with the Ngala). When
they mutually hit upon one, the Ngala man went away and returned shortly with a gift of food.
9
In the following versions a number of incidents, names of rafts, and so forth, are omitted.
223
section of the Sepik to the Kwoma, Yessan-Mayo, Wogamusin, and eastern
Iwam: there are indeed grounds for suggesting that it was introduced to the
river people by the Ngala.10
The Wolbi-Dogoshoa migration myths begin with the Crocodile ancestor,
Dagelabegela, who lives at the mountain Diyabugei. He sets out to travel
along Ndjanggaramb, walking backwards because his head is the wrong way
round, and blowing his wooden trumpets. Partway he meets two Bahinemo
ancestors (of Wagu), a married couple called Yebikai (m.) and Yebitowe (f.),
who restore his head to its proper position, and give him sago instead of dog
faeces to eat. Dagelabegela in return makes pots for them.
The Eagle ancestor, a pig called Budienauwi hears the trumpets, joins
forces with Dagelabegela, and they proceed together westwards in canoes,
following Ndjanggaramb. Crocodile's canoes are Yaunbi (Yenuwi clan) and
Dolwap (Lumo clan); Eagle's is Banggiwai (Manggopfa clan). Another Wolbi
clan, Bobapfa, comes with totemic cassowary and the canoe Tokauwul.
Eagle leads the way, singing a headhunting song, while Crocodile plays his
trumpets. They create Kwaliyo. Here Dagelabegela creates crocodiles,
ceremonial houses and slit-gongs. Budienauwi swims to Kauimbei, and
creates a sago swamp.11
After further creative acts, the ancestors retire to various lakes and
streams, where they now live as water-spirits.
The Nggraiyo myths begin in the ranges far south of Ngala, the area of
Sanio people, and possibly among them or the Setiali.
In the Kokopfa myth, the ancestor Gekenauwi lives at Tauwubugiyo
mountain. He loads his bamboo rafts with people and plants, including
coconuts. A banana that has fallen in the water is picked up by Wobeiyau,
the ancestor of Sapanokwa and Ambuken clans, who also carries with him
plants and people. The two go down the April River. They wish to stay with
the Bitara, but are sent on their way.
Gekenauwi stays on the April River. He hears a sound from a trumpet of
snake skin blown by Dimbegela, the ancestor of [Hornbill] clan who comes
from Kwanba mountain in his canoe Kipfauwi. Gekenauwi comes along a
waterway overgrown with vines, cutting them away with a mussel shell and
meets Dimbegela. They go together to Ngala, where they are greeted by
Eagle and Crocodile, who have arrived previously. They create shrimps and
fish, and return to live in lakes and streams.
Yenuibegela, another Nggraiyo ancestor, lives on the Sepik River at a
mountain called Libamasen. He builds rafts loaded with people, plants and
so on, and proceeds downstream, making the Sepik as he goes. He first stops
at Kabarok (Karok hill, now Kubkain), and disembarks his cargoes at several
10
A number of versions of the myth have been published; for example an incomplete but
representative Mountain Arapesh version in Mead (1938-1949:364-365). See Newton (1971:51)
for part of the Wogamusin version. Bowden (1983:106-110, 135-144) has an extended Kwoma
text which however does not include this episode.
11
This claim to an important economie source might well account for Ngala's hostility to the
Kauimbei people.
224
places. At Kauimbei he meets an ancestor of Boba clan, and some people
go to Ngala. Others go to Bargam (PBeglam) 'where the (Kwoma) Saseriman
now live.'12
In sum, in Ngala we have a community that believes itself, probably
correctly, to be composed of several immigrant groups: from the upper April
River (the Sanio); the Hunstein Mountains (the Bahinemo) and the Ambunti
Range (the Kwoma area). The question may well be asked, to what extent
these beliefs can be true.
In the first place, the myth of Yenuibegela, like others of the upper Sepik,
is based on a cosmogenic myth that describes the creation of the rivers by
a floating mountain, a python, a crocodile or an ancestor (Newton 1971:18;
1979:202-203) that distributes people, plants and animals to various locations. This, from ourpoint of view, establishes perhaps some early inhabited
sites, but not the people's ultimate origins.
Some corroboration of the Wolbi-Dogoshoa origins comes from the
traditions of neighboring groups. About six to seven generations ago (before
1970), the Ambunti Range was inhabited by people at Beglam, whom the
Manambu of Yambun called Ngala, and at the Ambunti hill, whom they
called Swarudi. The Kwoma, migrating in from the northwest, called them
all Ngala.13 The Yambun, now living about 6 km above Ambunti, were then
situated much closer to it. Fighting seems to have gone on for a couple of
generations. Finally, attacked by the Kwoma led by Arugutumb, and the
Yambun led by Tenembau and Ndjinndjin14, the Ngala-Swarudi were
slaughtered or dispersed; perhaps about the last quarter of the 18th century.
They were not entirely eliminated from the scène. One man, for instance,
was sheltered by a Yambun, and is said to have descendants at Avatep-Labunggai. Other survivors became ancestors of the Nggala clan of the
Kwoma (Kaufmann 1972:206). It seems highly likely that the Wolbi who
went to Ndjanggaramb were Ngala-Swarudi refugees. For their part, the
Bahinemo claim that the Ngala came from the same original village,
Kenesua, as themselves: referring presumably to the Dogoshoa.
With this first series connections in mind, one can examine the art of the
Ngala in terms of its stylistic affinities. It must be allowed that the actual
corpus of objects is rather small, and that it is limited in the types of objects
extant. The range, however, is slightly increased by a number of works
produced for commerce that are obviously fairly faithfully based on the
memory, or descriptions, of past examples.
12
Following this he lands the Sambarap clan at Yarabun; hence they look upon themselves
as kin to the Ngala. Later, as in several contemporary versions of the myth, he attains the mouth
of the Sepik, to reach (or become) Manam Island - a place which must have been completely
unknown in ancestral times.
]i
E.g., the important Ngala warrior called Suri Wolo is known to the Yambun as a Swarudi.
14
Bowden (1983:22-26) gives a long Kwoma account of this conflict.
225
NGALA ART
Architecture
The ceremonial houses (nimburam) are two-storey buildings about 30
m long and 7.5 m high. The thatched roofs are supported by a ridgepole on
a central row of posts, from which they slope past the upper floor, which
thus had no walls, nearly to the ground. The floors are supported on a
secondary system of shorter posts and beams. The houses fall into three
distinct sections. The front is a porch occupying about a third of the whole
structure, with its sides slanting back from the peak to the beginning of the
main body of the house. It is supported by a separate beam attached to the
main ridge pole; the sides are held in position by rafters rising from short
posts, with no other function, at the main section end. Further, the peak of
the porch is held up by a single tall post; behind this is a forking pair of posts
which take the weight of the rafters, and beyond again a further beamsupport pole and shorter poles supporting the sides. The porch in fact is an
addition to the rectangular, gabled form of the usual dwelling house on
which the midsection is firmly based. At the rear, a shallow apsidal addition
is composedby a downward extension of the roof. Afringe of sagofibre runs
all around the roof concealing the ground floor interior. Under the eaves of
the entire roof ran a continuous basketry tube to which, at the porch, were
fixed small painted pottery discs. Access to the upper storey is by log
ladders; in the front they rise to a shallow platform backed by a screen of
vertical palm-wood slats sharpened to points. Two entrances through the
screen are for the elder men; young men enter through the apse in the rear.
The decoration of the house is concentrated at the porch. At its peak the
roof beam has fastened to it a finial carved with a bird's head and (in some
cases) an attached mask. Above the finials, projecting further, were
lanceolate plaques with engraved designs. (Smaller, probably uncarved
versions are on some dwellings.) The interior beams of the porch are also
carved, with masks and serial hooks.
The ground floor and the interior of the upper storey are quite
undecorated. The latter housed the sacred paraphernalia and men's
sleeping-bags. It is the stage of ritual.
Each of the three sections replicates a feature of neighboring types of
architecture. Viewing the central section as a version of the normal
dwelling-house, we find it corresponds to the buildings of the Wogamusin.
The extended porch follows very closely, not in its engineering details,
but in visual effect, the general form and specific decoration of Yasyin,
Kwoma and Nukuma ceremonial houses. The main difference is that owing
to their construction techniques the Ngala houses are not saddlebacked, as
those houses were. They also have carved interior beams, woven encircling
tubes (at Yasyin), and finials; though theirs are longer and much more
elaborate, with a richer complement of images and references to mythology.
The lanceolate panel is a significant detail, a literal representation of a
common form of woven or wooden ceremonial headdress used by the
Nukuma and Kwoma, Sawos, Mountain Arapesh, Boiken and Abelam.
The apse is based on the Bahinemo model of ceremonial house, which
226
itself a variant on the type built by other groups in the southern Sepik Hills,
including the Ewa (Kaufmann 1974: fig. 5) and the Alamblak (Haberland and
Seyfarth 1974:51-59).
Conventions and designs
Faces were represented in several conventions. Masks were constructed
of long oval sago bark sheets, paired front and back, painted with faces and
with wooden birds' heads mounted above them (Newton 1971: fig. 87).
There are two designs for these masks.
Design 1: a continuous narrow band of paint which runs all around the
bark sheet and at the top arches over on both sides and extends down the
middle of the mask to express the nose. Round cutout eyes appear on either
side of the band, a teardrop shape painted below or beside each. The mouth
is a cutout crescent (fig. 58a).
Design 2: circumscribed by an oval narrow band, a figure 8 indicating the
brow and lower part of the face, with the nose and crescent mouth inside
it, and annular eyes at the waist of the 8 (fig. 58b). A modified version of
this layout also appears on shields. This style of face also occurs in the
carvings of the Ewa (fig. 58c), in which it occurs either inside or in an
enclosing band.
The carved wooden faces on canoe-prow shields are in three designs, all
based on narrow ovals.
Design 3: repeats design l.15
Design 4: the upper part is a serrated pattern above the horizontal brow,
annular eyes with crescents below them and the bridge of the nose are
bracketed by an elongated kidney shape on each side; the nostrils appear
below this area. Below again, on each side, is an incurved lune framing a
serrated form, with the crescent mouth below again (fig. 58d). One such
belonged to Pfagliwoto, the canoe of Ambuken of Nggraiyo (Bühler 1960:
plate 9). Another simpler version (Kaufmann 1980: fig. 106) has the
provenance 'Yauna' (Iwam: Hauna village), but was said by Ngala to be from
the Yaunbi canoe of Yenuwi (Wolbi).16
Design 5: the face repeats the lower section and the framing shapes of
4, but the nasal bridge at the upper end is an oval, with small eyes on each
side above two down-turned ovals above the small crescents (fig. 58e). This
is used for Wolbi canoes.
15
Kelm (1966, 1: fig. 18) — unless, as is conceivable, this is actually part of a mask.
1(5
Another carving on the same model is on a canoe-prow shield in The Metropolitan Museum
of Art, New York, no. 1979-206.1790 (Newton 1967: fig. 74), said credibly by the vendor to be
from Ngala. The Ngala repudiated this on the grounds - perfectly correct — that the painted
background was in the Iwam style. How this pastiche came about is unknown.
227
228
Design 4 is also used in threc dimensions. that is as a sculpture with the
face slightly dished below the forehead. and with a long, protruberant nose
and conical eyes. with the head mounted on a shaft (fig. 59a). This is
practically identical with the yena heads of the Knkuma and Kwoma
(fig. 59b).
Many Ngala carvings incorporate hook forms, either serial (unidirectional) or in opposed groups, often with a feature between the groups
(Haberland 1964). Allied styles are now known to occur in a remarkable
nufflber of Sepik areas. North of the River, it is found among the Abelam.
and some related masks exist on the lower Sepik. The main range of the
style. though interrupted, is south of the River. From east to west, it is used
by groups of the middle Ramu River (Kominimung, Rao, Breri); the Biwat
of the Yuat River; the Alamblak and Ewa of the southern Sepik Hills: the
Bahinemo in the Hunstein Mountains; the Xgala and the Sanio.
229
230
A number of canoe prow shields, and carvings associated with them,
exist. The Ngala version of the canoe-prow shield is unique in that the
trident sago bark frame has exceptionally long 'wings' that permit the usual
mask to have a long shaft rising above it terminating in a bird's head. The
length of the shaft is carved with small hooks, usually serial, pointing
downwards (fig. 60a). One example (from an Nggraiyo canoe) has a small
human head at the top, a sequence of down-pointing hooks below it, below
that a sequence of upward-pointing hooks, and below them again another
small head (fig. 60b). Considered without the heads, it is a version of a
Bahinemo garra; with it, the configuration is close to being a version of an
Alamblak yipwon (fig. 60c), the large figures representing war- and
huntingspirits. Again, another type of cult object represented by both old
and commercial carvings is a panel with a face and a series of upturned
hooks below it.17
Carved staffs are used in magie to bring draughts of catfish, and are
placed at flood time in palm-leaf shelters built on the sacred mounds in front
of the ceremonial houses. These shelters strongly resemble the form of
Kwoma yena altars.18 A commercial carving which probably represents a
magician's staff has a human head and rows of opposed hooks down each
side and the front.19 This configuration is also found on some Kwoma sacred
mindja carvings (Newton 1971: fig. 168). Among other staffs are examples
with human heads at their tops with lateral curveel prongs (birds' heads or
fish hooks) just below them, and with one or more panels wider than the
shaft along its length.20 An exactly similar carving is made by the Wogamusin
of Kubkain, associated with a myth of a girl thief who was caught on the
prongs.
Each ceremonial house had one or more large sacred carvings in the form
of masks, although they were not used as such; possibly they were
sometimes displayed lying on the slit-gongs. Two masks from Amuwasi
were in the style of face design 1 but have been lost. Small model masks,
perhaps from Wolbi, have recently been made, one with a vertical row of
opposed hooks down its back, identical to the cult masks of the Bahinemo.21
Only one pair of masks (from Dogoshoa, called Kumam) now appears to
exist (Kaeppler, Kaufmann and Newton 1993: plate 230, 311). These
extraordinary works ostensibly show faces with relief forehead bands, and
l
' T h e commercial version is N e w t o n (1971: fig. 82); the old version is n o w in an u n k n o w n
private collection.
18
T w o or three of these w e r e seen at Ngala during the 1973 flood clearly containing something.
We were n o t allowed to a p p r o a c h them.
19
N e w t o n (1971: fig. 84)
20
An example, p r o b a b l y not m a d e for sale is n o w in the National Museum, Boroko (E7996);
it w a s seen at Ngala in 1965. T h e h e a d wears an old-style policeman's cap. At least o n e copy
w a s m a d e for sale in 1967 (Newton 1971: fig. 85); other commercial carvings of the general type
are in Los Angeles (1967:62).
21
American M u s e u m of Natural History, N e w York; private collection, N e w York, both
collected in 1970.
231
three peg-like projections above them; relief elements at the sides; and three
birds' heads curving upwards from the chin. In fact these are doublé images.
For slit-gong ceremonies celebrating headhunting, they were set upright on
the 'pegs' (legs and genitals) with the birds' heads overarching the face.
Beyond this, the Ngala use a fairly large range of 'abstract' designs,
engraved or in low relief, or sometimes painted, which are named and refer
to natural objects. Some of them are also used by the Wogamusin and to a
lesser extent by the Iwam, with different interpretations in each case.
RELATIONSHIPS
We can consider three aspects of relationships in the art of Ngala: those
existing internally to the village; those that have taken effect since the village
was established, and the implications of its antecedents.
One may consider the intracommunity relationships of objects and
designs. Some upper Sepik groups, the Kwoma for instance, seem to have
a quite rigorous claim that designs are specific to different clans. The Ngala
also state that certain designs are clan- or ward-specific, including barkpainting designs, some of those engraved on the sides of canoes. This also
applies even to some works such as gong-beaters: those with human head
terminals are Dogoshoa, those with registers of inverted cones ('banana
stalks') are Wolbi.22 How far this is adhered to is uncertain; there seems to
be some overlap (type 4 masks being made by more than one ward) but this
may simply indicate that the design is part of a general stock or, with more
complexity, that certain circumstances permit such use. These could be
rights to designs acquired through marriage or (what seems to exist)
overlaps of clan ancestors across ward boundaries.
External, intercommunity relationships after settlement at the Ngala site
are clearer. The Yambun people say that their greatest ceremony, Ndumwi23,
which involves the simultaneous beating of at least six slit-gongs to imitate
the dancing of a female water-spirit, was imported by their Yimar clan. They
claim that it was then adopted by the Ngala, who say the Wolbi group in turn
sold it to the Wogamusin.
Ngala slit-gongs fall within the type also used by the Bahinemo, the
Wogamusin, the Iwam and probably the Sanio. The hollowed barrel of the
gong occupies only a quarter to a third of the whole instrument; the
remainder tapers the rest of its length to terminate in a carved finial. Both
Ngala and Wogamusin agree that when some Ngala went to live at Kubkain,
perhaps in the first quarter of the 19th century, they introduced the slit-gong
ceremony and certain flute tunes (not necessarily slit-gongs and flutes). As
far as visual art is concerned, they certainly brought in the Ngala models of
canoe-prows, paddies and shields (and one might guess gong-beaters and
22
See Kelm (1966, II: fig. 179) for human head terminal, and the same (figs. 173, 174) for
banana stalks.
23
See Harrison (1990) for a detailed account of this from Avatep. The Yambun seem to place
much more stress on the gong-beating component, as do the Ngala and Wogamusin.
232
canoe-prow shields), subsequently modified and elaborated by the Wogamusin.
As for the antecedents of Ngala art, we may recapitulate the origin of the
village. Groups of people, evidently very small, under stresses of one kind
or another, arrived consecutively at a particular site over a number of years
from very different original locations, and made accommodations (often
based on improvised totemic relationships) which allowed them to live
there together in some sort of harmony. But each group did not forget its
origins (if they had done so we would know nothing of them), and brought
with it various elements of cultural baggage.
One element is, of course, language; and we may ask what was the origin
of the Ndu component. Clearly it was not from the Bahinemo or the southern
area ancestors, which leaves only the Wolbi group. This implies that the
group - or part of it, as it could itself have had complex origins - came from
the northeast or the east: that is, the areas either of the Wosera Abelam or
the middle Sepik people (the Sawos).
The baggage included art motifs which continued to be used as an
affirmationof cultural identity. The alternative, that after reaching their
village they picked up the stylistic units from their neighbors, seems far less
feasible. So the art of Ngala, so far as we know it, evinces not so much a style
as an assemblage of disparate stylistic units; there is no such thing as a
coherent, unified Ngala style. What Ngala carvers, painters and architects
were making -as no doubt they were well aware - was a hodgepodge
composed from several stylistic traditions, none specifically local. These
derived from, anteceded or were related to those of the Kwoma/Yessan-Mayo, the Sepik Hills groups (Bahinemo/Ewa), and Ndu-language
speakers (Sawos/Iatmul).
If this is the case some historical implications may exist, even based on
the little firmly known about the village's age. Some slit-gongs of the Sawos
and Iatmul, said by them to be in an archaic style, are in exactly the form
of Ngala-Wogamusin canoe-prows, suggesting a certain antiquity for the
design of both. Again the fact that certain facial designs are akin to those of
the Kwoma and Nukuma may well suggest that the designs themselves have
been in use at least since, and probably before, the Kwoma entered the
region. The hook style, judging by its interrupted distribution, seems to be
another archaic -and perhaps earlier even more widespread - style, later
replaced by various naturalistic styles.
Hauser-Schaublin (1989) proposes what seems incontestable, that the
ceremonial houses of the Sepik are based on a prototype introduced from
the north coast, and that its variants can be arranged in a phylogenetic order.
In this scheme the Kwoma and Ngala variants are branches on a single limb,
the latter with a Bahinemo contribution. There are two ways this could have
come about. One is that the Ngala merely, in recent times, copied the
example of their Yasyin neighbors and trading partners. Or, in the early part
of their history before their migration, the Wolbi at least shared the
Yasyin-Kwoma model and carried it with them to Ngala, integrating the
Sepik Hills apse on the way because of their relationship with the Bahinemo.
To express it another way: clearly many of the combinations we see in
Ngala art are incongruous. Congruity implies variations, if any, within the
233
compass of a single theme. In Ngala art one major theme does not imply
another - that is, if we have a naturalist mask, then a system of hooks is not
implied within the naturalistic system. The principle of congruity has been
used by Conklin (1985) to unravel the history of an ancient Peruvian
architectural complex by equating forms: contemporaneity: 'coherent matrix.' Incongruity (or thematic anomaly), then, implies change through time.
The examples of incongruity in a Sepik style are, I believe, capable of similar
analysis.
How does incongruity arise? Clarke's summary of information theory
(1968:90), condensed further, says a system gains information from internal
sources (invention) or extended sources (by diffusion). The system may
reject information. If it accepts, the system will find the information new
(gain), alternative (disjunctive), contradictive (equivocation), confirmative
(redundant). All acceptance therefore leads to change.
In case of a large group, such as the Abelam, a central core shares
language, social structures, technology, religion, art, etc, while only
perimeter groups are susceptible to information from surrounding groups.
Local movements within the core will hardly convey contradictive information, gain or disjunction will be minor. A large group may therefore tend to
conservatism, and only produce changes through major environmental or
ideological constraints (see again Hauser-Schaublin on Abelam ceremonial
houses). One might expect an exponential fall-off in influence in distance
from the source.
In the case of small societies (which may previously have gone
through the same process), when migrations between them take place, one
will bring to the other information which will represent gain or disjunction,
and reciprocally receive the same. If several such transactions take place,
the gain from several incoming groups will lead to a marked series of
changes in the constantly modulating host group. The effects of a very high
quotiënt of contradiction would lead to catastrophic changes. These appear
to have been common enough in the Sepik and sometimes affected the arts.
They may quite often account for 'dropouts', that is signs of discontinuous
distribution, in the thematic repertoire. That is, a succession from current
usage to obsolescence demonstrates a diachronic sequence, or phase of art
history. This would appear to be evident in the small cultures of the Sepik
area; but it is worthwhile examining the larger cultures, which themselves
have probably gone through phases of accretion from smaller units, from the
same point of view.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Ngala material given here was collected, much of it in the form of
tape-recordings, during several short visits in 1967 and 1973- A number of
objects in museum collections were identified by Ngala men from photographs. I am particularly grateful to Senabi, Lekei, Gudara and Yemkro'a for
information.
The Trustees of the former Museum of Primitive Art kindly allowed me
leaves of absence, and I was aided by generous grants from the
234
Wenner-Gren Foundation, under the direction of Lita Osmundsen; a grant
to the Museum by Mrs. Gertrud A. Mellon; and the assistance of Mr. Harold
P. Schneider.
References cited
Behrmann, Walter
1922
lm Stromgebiet des Sepik, eine Deutsche Forschungsreise in Neuguinea.
Berlin.
1917
Der Sepik (Kaiserin-Augusta-Fluss) und sein Stromgebiet, geographischer
Bericht der Kaiserin-Augusta-Fluss Expedition 1912-13, auf der Insel
Neuguinea. Sonderabdruck aus Mitteilungen aus den Deutschen
Schützgebieten, Erganzungsheft No. 12. Berlin.
1950-1951 Die Versammlungshauser (Kulthauser) am Sepik in Neu-Guinea. Die
Erde, 3-4:305-327.
Bühler, Alfred
1960
Kunststile am Sepik, Führer durch das Museum für Völkerkunde Basel.
Basel.
Clarke, David L.
1968
Analytical archaeology. New York .
Conklin, William J.
1985
The architecture of Huaca Los Reyes. In: C. B. Donnan (ed.), Early
ceremonial architecture in the Andes, 139-164. Washington, D.C.
Haberland, Eike
1964
Zum Problem der 'Hakenfiguren' der südlichen Sepik-Region in
Neuguinea. Paideuma 10:52-71.
1968
The caves of Karawari. New York.
Haberland, Eike, and Siegfried Seyfarth
1974
Die Yimar am oberen Korowori (Neuguinea). Wiesbaden.
Harrison, Simon J.
1990
Stealing people's names, history and politics in a Sepik river cosmology.
Cambridge.
Hauser-Schaublin, Brigitte
1989
Kulthauser in Nordneuguinea. Abhandlungen und Berichte des Staatlichen Museums für Völkerkunde Dresden. Forschungstelle. Band 43Monographien 7. Berlin.
Kaeppler, Adrienne, Christian Kaufmann and Douglas Newton
1993
L'art océanien. Paris.
Kaufmann, Christian
1968
Über Kunst und Kult bei den Kwoma und Nukuma (Nord-Neuguinea).
Verhandlungen der Naturforschenden Gesellschaft in Basel 79:63-lll.
1972
Das Töpferhandwerk der Kwoma in Nord-Neuguinea. Basler Beitrage zur
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1980
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Ethnographie, Band 12. Basel,
Ethnographische Notizen zur basler Korewori-Sammlung. Verhandlungen der Naturforschenden Gesellschaft in Basel 84:711-724.
Ozeanische Kunst, Meisterwerke aus dem Museum für Völkerkunde Basel.
Kunstmuseum Basel 23- Februar - 27. April 1980. Basel.
Swiss and German ethnographie collections as source materials, a report
on work in progress. In: N. Lutkehaus (ed.), Sepik heritage, tradition and
change in Papua New Guinea, 587-595. Durham.
Kelm, Heinz
1966-1968 Kunst vom Sepik. Veröffentlichungen des Museums für Völkerkunde
Berlin. Neue Folge 10, 11, 15. Abteilung Südsee VII. 3 Volumes. Berlin
1969
Kunstgegenstande aus dem Sepik-Gebiet (Neuguinea). Baessler-Archiv,
Neue Folge 17:303-364.
Laycock, Donald C.
1965
TheNdu language family (Sepik District, New Guinea). Linguistic Circle of
Canberra. Series C - Books no. 1. Canberra.
1973
Sepik languages, checklist andpreliminary classification. Pacific linguistics series B no. 25. Canberra. Los Angeles: University of California.
1967
Art of New Guinea, Sepik, Maprik and Highlands, exhibition Ethnic Art
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Martin, J. ü.
1962
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1938-1949 The mountain Arapesh. Anthropological papers of the American
museum of Natural History, 36, 37, 40, 41. New York.
Newton, Doulas
1967
New Guinea art in the collection of The Museum of Primitive Art.
New York.
1971
Crocodile and cassowary, religious art of the upper Sepik River, New
Guinea. New York.
1975
Kubru shields, style and history. In: F. Hartt (ed.), Art studies for an editor,
25 essays in memory of Milton S. Fox, 191-223- New York.
Ormsby, R. G.
1949
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1975
Ritual arts of the South Seas, the Morton D. May collection. Exhibition
catalogue. The St. Louis Art Museum, 22 August - 19 October 1975.
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N. Lutkehaus (ed.), Sepik heritage, tradition and change in Papua New
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Man and culture in Oceania 3 (special issue) :177-189.
237
12
ARROW DESIGNS IN NORTHERN
AND CENTRAL NEW GUINEA
AND THE LAPITA CONNECTION
Barry Craig
Introduction
A few scholars (Green 1979, Newton 1988, Spriggs 1990a) have suggested
the value of exploring the continuities between designs on prehistorie Lapita
pottery1 and those on bistorical and contemporary artefacts of the Pacific.
The time difference is not excessive (around 2000 to 3000 years) and
geographical continuity is assured so the weaknesses of a diffusionist
approach are irrelevant.
The Australian National University's Lapita Design Project, arising out of
its Austronesian Project, was envisaged in three stages (Spriggs 1990a:l-2):
• an analysis of the Lapita decorative system;
• an examination of prehistorie material elsewhere in the Austronesianregion;
• a study 'of related decoration in other media within the Austronesian
world: tattooing, tapa manufacture, woodcarving and rock art... Since
some of these are crafts practised in the ethnographic present, some
connections with contemporary decorative systems might be established'
(ibid.: 2).
Both Green and Newton have attempted to demonstrate that such
continuities exist: Green for Polynesia and Newton for Melanesia. Green
deals with the material from the perspective of an archaeologist, Newton
from the perspective of an art historian; Green is interested in motifs and the
way they are structureel into whole designs whereas Newton focuses on a
limited set of complex motifs. Ballard (1992) has commenced a study of rock
art sites in western Melanesia with the intention of identifying Austronesian
prototypes.
1
Lapita is the name given by archaeologists to a pottery tradition that has been associated
with communities believed to have been speaking languages ancestral to present-day
Austronesian languages, and located in the Bismarck Archipelago and island Melanesia around
2000 to 4000 years ago.
238
My aim in this paper is to examine designs found on arrows of northern
and central New Guinea to determine the extent to which they correspond
to designs found on Lapita pottery of Melanesia, particularly of the region
of the Bismarck Archipelago.
A couple of sherds of Lapita pottery have been found in the vicinity of
Aitape (fig. 6l) on the north coast of the New Guinea mainland (Swadling
et al. 1988: plate 44; Spriggs 1990b:6; Spriggs 1990c: 100), and the north
coastline and offshore islands are host to several enclaves of Austronesian
speakers (Laycock 1973; Ross 1989; Voorhoeve 1975; Z'graggen 1975), so
geographical continuity is satisfied2.
The recent work of Swadling (Swadling et al. 1988:14-15; Swadling et al.
1989; Swadling et al. 1991; Swadling and Hope 1992:31-37) in exploring the
hypothesis of a Sepik-Ramu embayment which would still have existed,
though diminishing from its maximum extent, during the time Lapita pottery
was being manufactured in the Bismarck Archipelago between about 3850
and 2200 BP (Spriggs 1990b: table 1, 22-23) is also relevant, as Austronesian
enclaves may well have colonised the embayment.
Thus contact between Austronesians of the Lapita tradition and nonLapita mainland New Guinea populations could have occurred along the
north coast of the mainland and in the region of the present-day Sepik-Ramu
basin, some considerable distance inland from the present coastline. The
present-day distribution of slit-drums, generally considered to be an
Austronesian artefact, is anomalous in the Sepik-Ramu basin (Niles 1983;
Swadling et al. 1988:66-7), and this also may be an indication of Austronesian enclaves along the shores of the embayment.
One does not have to postulate migrating Austronesians to account for
Austronesian cultural traits further into the interior of New Guinea; trade and
warfare were adequate mechanisms for achieving this. Whilst the two most
significant classes of objects favoured for long-distance trading in New
Guinea were stone tools and shell valuables, over the mediumrange lowland
blackpalm bow staves were traded into the central ranges; I and others have
noted this for central New Guinea (Craig 1988:46; Kooijman 1962:27;
Swadling 1983:111 and footnotes 5,6). Arrows also were a trade item,
particularly from the north to the Mountain-Ok region of central New Guinea
(Craig 1988:47 and 1990:131; Cranstone 1990:38; Kooijman 1962:27 and map
p.17).
In addition to their use as a trade item, arrows were salvaged after intergroup conflict (Craig 1988:47; Van der Leeden 1962:92) or were ceremonially exchanged at funerals, were given as gifts to visiting relatives or were
exchanged to resolve disputes between hostile, or potentially hostile,
groups (Van der Sande 1907:243 for Humboldt Bay; Van der Leeden 1962:90,
2
Ross (1989) suggests that the present Austronesian groups along the Sepik north coast of
New Guinea migrated from the Vitiaz Straits in the east, via Manam Island but it is not clear
when this happened. However, it is possible that trading voyages preceded actual settlement,
perhaps by hundreds of years.
ARROW DESIGNS IN NORTHERN AND CENTRAL NEW GUINEA
Figure 61. Map of New Guïnea and the Bismarck Archipelago.
239
240
96-9 for the Sarmi area further to the west).3 Heider (1970:282, 285-6) notes
the role of warfare in ensuring widespread consistency in arrow design
among the Dani of central Irian Jaya.
Method
Having established that the circumstances were most likely conducive to
exchange of cultural material between the Lapita-producing Austronesians
and mainland New Guineans, and that subsequent expansion of Austronesian cultural traits can be explained by the mechanisms of trade, gift-giving
and warfare, it remains to demonstrate that this may indeed have happened
in relation to the designs on arrows.
I propose to do this by:
• identifying the range of design elements on arrows of north coast and
central New Guinea, and the structural principles which organise these
design elements;
• identifying the range of design elements of Lapita pottery in Melanesia
(particularly the Bismarck Archipelago) and the structural principles
which organise these design elements;
• examining the results for continuities and discontinuities between the
prehistorie Lapita pottery designs and the recent arrow designs.
I will be allocating the arrow designs wherever possible to language
groups, or at least to relatively small regions (such as 'Sepik North Coast')I do not mean to suggest that cultural variations necessarily correlate with
linguistic differences; sometimes they do and sometimes they don't.* Rather,
it is simply a way of providing reasonably small units for analysis to avoid
masking significant geographical variations in the data.
I must caution, however, that this is a preliminary exercise to explore
whether or not there seems to be sufficient evidence to proceed with the
analysis in a more thorough fashion. The analysis of Lapita designs has been
carried out in a different way to my analysis of the arrow designs, and there
is some considerable difficulty in identifying structural principles for Lapita
design since so much of the evidence consists of sherds which present only
a portion of the total design; it is much easier to identify design elements.^
To establish an inventory of Lapita pottery design elements and to
identify the structural principles by which these design elements are
organised, I refer primarily to the work of Anson (1983) on the Lapita
-1 Via the ceremonial exchanges the arrows pass from hand to hand and oflen become
distributed over great distances (Van der Leeden 1962:96).
4
See also Welsch et al. (1992).
'
See footnote 12.
241
designs of Melanesia, including the Bismarck Archipelago, since that is the
body of Lapita material geographically closest to the region of New Guinea
with which I am concerned. For the arrows6,1 have already analysed a large
body of material for conference papers in 1984 (Craig 1990) and 1990
(unpublished). I will integrate these analyses, adding material accumulated
in the museums in Berlin, Leiden and Basel immediately prior to the 1990
conference. I will be using my own terminology for the structural principles
I derived from my study of the arrow designs but I will refer to other
descriptive and taxonomie systems where relevant, particularly that of Mead
(1975) and of Washburn and Crowe (1988).7
Although I will be examining design elements, structural principles are
believed to be much more significant for comparative purposes. Washburn
and Crowe (1988:40) state:
Friedrich's now classic Tarascan study (1970) has shown that design
elements are very easily dispersed among groups, but layout configurations seem to be more specific indicators of shared work groups.
An implication of this is that structural principles are more resistant to
change than are design elements. I have analysed a situation where a foreign
(lower Sepik) shield design was introduced into the upper Sepik area about
1968 (Craig 1976, 1983). I compared the local shields and their designs to
the shields following the foreign style by examining form, technique, motifs
6
Designs on arrows were recorded during several fieldtrips in the Mountain-Ok area (1964,
1967, 1983), and in the Upper Sepik area (1968, 1969, 1972-3). I also took rubbings from arrows
collected by other fieldworkers in the Mountatn-Ok and Upper Sepik areas and from arrows
in museum collections in Sydney, Darwin, Port Moresby, London, Salem (Mass.), Berlin, Leiden
and Basel. I am grateful to the directors of those museums and to the curators of those
collections for providing access. The 1964 fieldwork was carried out whilst I was a
schoolteacher at Telefomin in central New Guinea. The 1967 fieldtrip was partly financed by
the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research in New York and partly by Prof.
Jean Guiart, then of the Musée de 1'Homme in Paris. Wenner-Gren also partly financed the 1968
fieldtrip. I should note my gratitude to Dr. Simon Kooijman who, as deputy director of the
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde in Leiden, agreed to assist with financing the 1968 and 1969
fieldtrips in the Upper Sepik area. My thanks are also due to Dr. Gerd Koch, then-Director of
the Museum für Völkerkunde in Berlin and to Dr. Frank Talbot, then-Director of the Australian
Museum in Sydney, who also assisted with financing these two fieldtrips. The 1972-3 fieldtrip
was conducted whilst under contract to the Commonwealth Art Advisory Board in Canberra and
the 1983 fieldtrip was conducted while I was Curator of Anthropology at the PNG National
Museum and Art Gallery. Individuals who have generously given me access to their arrows and
associated documentation include Dr. George Morren (Mianmin), Dr. Wilson Wheatcroft
(Tifalmin), Dr. Anton Perey (Oksapmin), Dr. Pat Townsend (Sepik Hills), and Bruce Macleay
(West Range).
7
Washburn and Crowe (1988) have provided an extremely detailed and thorough system for
descriptive analysis of patterned design based on the geometrie principles of crystallography.
Unfortunately I obtained a copy of this work too late for me to use for the purposes of this paper
as it would involve a lengthy reanalysis of almost 2000 designs. Their book describes a
culturally neutral system that could be used universally for the analysis of patterns developed
from repetition of design elements and motifs organised according to the rules of symmetry.
As may be ejepected, there are correspondences between the systems used by myself, Mead,
and Washburn and Crowe.
242
and composition (i.e., structure). I concluded that 'technique and composition are more durable aspects of style than motifs' (1976:193).
This analysis was of an event that took place more-or-less at one point
in time, not over hundreds or thousands of years, but it does not seem an
unreasonable inference that the resistance of aspects of a local style to
influences of a foreign style has diachronic implications. Taking this further,
I referred to the identical structure of a design on a Telefolmin shield and
a design on a Simbai shield (the areas are 330 kilometres apart), although
technique and motifs were different. This suggested to me 'not merely a
coincidence, but more likely a survival in these areas of an ancient, common
mode of perception' and that 'compositional principles are the most
durable, technique somewhat less durable, and motifs the least durable
aspect of an art style' (ibid.:194).
Analysis of arrow designs
My analysis of the characteristics of the designs on arrows of central and
northern New Guinea has derived from looking at around two thousand
rubbings of the designs on the heads and foreshafts of arrows. Impressions
of the designs were obtained by rubbing a black lumber crayon over a piece
of paper wrapped around the arrow (see Craig 1988:47, fig. 32). This made
it much easier to 'read' the design.8 It also resulted in a design which was
repetitive along an axis at right angles to the length of the arrow (the 'eastwest' axis in Mead's system - Mead 1975:22). Of course, the method of
recording the design increased the number of times an element was
repeated from two, occasionally three, times on the arrow, to as many times
as I chose to continue the rubbing. I also indicated the distal and proximal
ends of the design so the 'north-south' axis in Mead's terms is indicated,
which is the axis of the length of the arrow itself.
Arrows are made by men only. The designs are 'chiselled' from the arrow
head or arrow foreshaft with the incisor of a rat or small marsupial so that
the raised relief bands and relief forms9 indicate the pattern or 'figure'
against the chiselled-out areas which are the 'ground' and usually filled with
red and white (and sometimes yellow) pigments. West of the Mek area in
Irian Jaya, the chiselled out areas are infilled with white lime - no other
colour is used - and the relief bands are generally much finer (less than 2
mm wide) than among the Mek and their neighbours to the east. The relief
bands of the Sepik North Coast arrows are the widest (more than 2 mm
wide). Those of central New Guinea and the upper Sepik basin are around
2 mm wide.
8
Bush did not do this in her study of arrow designs and consequently it would have been
much more diffïcult for her to determine what the design elements were and how they were
put together. For example, it appears that she has considered to be a design element (1985:
fig. 10, iv) the heart-shaped chiselled-out area formed by the process of carving barbs.
9
Definition of 'relief band' follows Schefold 1966:259, footnote 133: 'By "relief-band" we
understand a simple projection in low relief, of constant width and depth, and with a
rectangular cross section...' A relief form is the same as a relief band except that it is of varying
width.
243
My method of design analysis was to place all designs together that were
essentially the same, then to place together all those that varied in only a
minor way. The variations were usually at the level of design elements so
this process of looking for similarities began to yield an understanding of
the way the design elements were put together to make whole designs. Of
course, there were some ambiguities but these did not significantly affect the
identification of the basic structural principles. Also, some designs are
examples of more than one structural principle. Figure 62 provides an
inventory of the most common design elements and figure 639a gives
examples of the five major structural principles:
i SINGLE ELEMENT10 — a single design element repeated at right angles to
the length of the arrow (east-west);
ii SERIAL REPETITION - a single design element repeated both at right
angles to the axis of the arrow (east-west) and along the axis of the arrow
(north-south);
iii INVERSION SYMMETRY - a design element or complex of design
elements subjected to mirror image symmetry around an axis at right
angles to the length of the arrow;
iv DIAGONALLY DEFLECTED SYMMETRY - a design element or complex
of design elements subjected to mirror-image symmetry as above but
with the 'reflected' image shifted a half-position to one side, often so that
the two halves inter-penetrate;
v AGGLUTINATION - a design built up through the addition of several
different or alternating elements which are integrated along the axis of
the arrow (north-south).
9a Note on Figures: The Lapita motifnumbers are those assigned by Anson 1983. USEE 1968
and 1969 refer to the two collecting expeditions I conducted in the upper Sepik area in those
years. In some cases I was provided by the receiving museums with the registration numbers
for the pieces I collected and these numbers are provided in the captions without reference
to the USEE collection numbers but not all the pieces with museum numbers were collected
by me. Where I do not have the registration numbers, I have indicated my collection numbers
and the museum to which the piece went. AM = Australian Museum; PNGNMAG = Papua New
Guinea National Museum & Art Gallery; RvV = Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde; MfV = Museum
fur Volkerkunde. I also took rubbings of many arrows in the field without collecting the arrows;
I have indicated this where relevant. The scale (cms) applies only to the arrow rubbings and
is more accurate in the vertical than in the horizontal direction because of the vagaries of the
process of taking rubbings.
The arrow designs were reproduced by photocopying the rubbings at half size and inking over
the black lines and forms. Thus there were two possibilities of distortion - at the stage of rubbing
the design with the crayon and at the inking-over stage. Although the reproductions are as close
to accurate as can reasonably be expected, they lack the finesse of the original designs; in short,
the New Guineans are much better at carving than I am at drawing. For this lack of skill I
apologise to the many craftsmen whose work is represented here, and to the reader.
10
In previous publications I have named this structure as 'single asymmetrie motifs' (such as
a line of linked spirals) but I have since realised that the linking of symmetrical design elements
(such as lozenges, rectangles or ovals) along an east-west axis is an example of the same
structure. The main difference within this category is between discontinuousrepetition (where
each element is isolated from its neighbours) and continuous repetition (where each element
is linked with its neighbours). This is a characteristic of designs noted also by Mead (1975:40).
244
245
Figure 64 gives examples of designs that incorporate more than one
structural principle, or can be read as either of two structural prïnciples.
Where designs incorporate more than one structural principle. this was
resolved by categorising the design according to its overall structure rather
than according to the structure of a part of the design. Other ambiguities
were resolved by looking at similar designs that were not ambiguous and
applying their structural principle to the ambiguous design.11
Table 1 provides an analysis of the arrow designs in the study area
according to these structural principles. The first point to be made is that the
percentage of designs that can be characterised by the five basic structures
varies from language group to language group, but that certain clusterings
of language groups occur. These clusterings I have indicated in bold type
and they roughly correlaie to areas sharing relatively distinct cultural traits.
Figure 64. Examples of arrow designs
incorporating more than one structural
principle or that can be read as either of
two structural principles.
A. Inversion Symmetry that could also be
read as Agglutination - Telefol, MountainOk (not collected): B. Diagonally
Deflected Symmetry within an overall
Inversion Symmetry pattern thai could
also be read as Agglutination - Yuri.
Border Mtns (USEE 1968 #659. RvV,
Leiden): C. Inversion Symmetry ihat can
also be read as Agglutination - Eastern
Abau (PNGNMAG. E.7310): D. Senal
Repetition that can also be read as
Tnversion Symmetry - Mek (MfV. Bcrlin,
VI 53695-a); E. Inversion Symmetry but
note infill elements break the rule Faiwol, Mountain-Ok (not collected).
1
That I had to do this indicates that my categories are not entirely satisfactory. I expect that
by using the system proposed by Washburn and Crowe (1988). this diffïculty would be
overcome and would significantly improve the overall analysis.
246
Comparing the structures of arrow designs of each 'culture area' with the
'North Coast' as an arbitrary baseline, it may be observed that:
•
•
arrow designs of the Border Mountains are almost entirely characterised
by Diagonally Deflected Symmetry;
the Abau have rather more designs structured by Serial Repetition and
rather less structured as Single Elements, favouring Diagonally Deflected
Symmetry;
Table 1. Analysis of the Structures of Arrow Designs
Language Groups or Area
TOTAL
N
%
SE
%
SR
%
IS
%
DDS
%
AGG
%
Aitape
Keerom (Waris)
Total 'North Coast'
105
22
127
100
100
100
24
18
23
2
5
2
26
27
27
42
36
41
6
14
7
Border Mountains
(Waina, Amanab,
Anggor, Yuri)
134
100
6
4
5
82
3
47
94
63
18
66
9
3
3
5
4
9
22
14
17
18
17
19
14
21
22
288
100
100
100
100
100
100
14
17
57
58
54
61
48
55
6
3
8
15
7
35
100
_
20
17
14
49
Sepik Hills (April,
Wogamush, L-Schulze)
154
100
12
12
8
14
54
Mianmin
Oksapmin
Telefol
Tifal
Faiwol
Total Mountain-Ok
246
29
263
106
85
729
100
100
100
100
100
100
11
14
14
12
20
14
2
3
2
2
3
2
18
7
22
27
24
21
8
35
27
30
34
22
61
41
35
29
19
41
Ngalum
Eastern Mek
Central Mek/Langda
Total Sibil-Mek
111
100
100
100
100
_
3
1
39
31
45
39
43
53
39
44
18
16
13
16
_
45
76
232
-
Nth/Sth Ngalik
Dani
Total Ngalik-Dani
36
38
74
100
100
100
3
8
5
50
24
36
22
21
22
8
18
14
17
29
23
Uhunduni
Ekagi, Moni, Dem
Total 'Western'
11
63
74
100
100
100
_
_
-
9
6
7
9
33
30
82
61
63
-
1847
100
Eastern Abau
Central Abau
"Western Abau
Sobger River
Idam/August Valley
Total Abau
West Range
(Amto, Bo, Blimo)
TOTAL
247
• the West Range arrow designs strongly favour Agglutination as do the
Sepik Hills designs;
• the adjacent Mianmin in the northern Mountain-Ok area favour Agglutination even more than do the West Range and Sepik Hills groups but this
structural principle drops off in significance in the southern MountainOk area in favour of Inversion Symmetry and Diagonally Deflected
Symmetry;
• the Sibil-Mek favour Serial Repetition and Inversion Symmetry, with no
Agglutination;
• the Ngalik-Dani also favour Serial Repetition, and Agglutination reappears as a significant structural principle;
• the 'Western' group strongly favours Diagonally Deflected Symmetry,
with no Agglutination or Single Elements.
It must be made clear that these frequency differences are not likely to
remain the same over long periods of time; indeed it is highly probable that
much of the variation has to do with 'fashion'. That is, a particular
population of men may favour a particular design during a particular period
of time and this may to some extent determine the percentage of designs
falling into each of my five basic design structures.12 In any case, it would
be futile to compare the frequency of use of the various structural principles
of arrows with that of Lapita pottery. The best that can be done is to consider
presence or absence of particular structural principles.
I have indicated in figure 62 the most common arrow design elements for
each 'culture area'. I have not attempted to do a frequency analysis of the
design elements as this would require a computer analysis, for which I do
not at present have resources. In any case, frequenties for design elements
probably vary ina similar fashion to frequenties for structural principles. For
comparison with Lapita pottery designs, it is sufficient simply to consider
presence or absence of particular design elements.
As noted above, a comparison of design elements does not carry the same
weight as a comparison of the structures of designs. Washburn and Crowe
(1988:27-28) make this point by citing an example from ancient Greece:
Previous studies of the element distributions revealed their presence
throughout the occupied area of Greece. However, a symmetry
analysis revealed mutually exclusive regions of different arrangements of these common elements (nets, flames, zigzags, and steps)
during the Early and Middle Neolithic, but a grouping of symmetry
classes, possibly indicating market centres, by the late Neolithic.
12
Certainly it would have been a major difficulty to provide an analysis of structures of Lapita
design based on thousands of small sherds, very few of which could be joined to provide a clear
idea of total patterns. However, the Lapita Homeland Project of 1985 and subsequent
excavations have vastly added to the material available and there are now a large number of
whole designs represented (Golson, and Spriggs, personal Communications, January 1995).
Unfortunately these have not yet been illustrated and published so were not available for this
study.
248
Analysis of Lapita pottery designs
Despite the fact that an analysis, within a particular tradition, of the
distribution and frequency of design elements is not likely to be as
significant as an analysis of the distribution and frequency of certain
structural principles, Anson has chosen to base his study on design elements
rather than structures. Nevertheless, it is possible to infer from his table 12,
showing the percent representation and distribution of 516 design elements
or motif types from the Bismarck Archipelago, Reef Islands & Santa Cruz,
New Caledonia, Vanuatu and Fiji, which structural principles appear to
organise the design elements on Lapita pottery of Melanesia. Examination
of the work of others, particularly Mead for the Fijian pottery, confirms
these. These structures include:
• continuous and discontinuous repetition of a motif or design element in
'east-west', multiple or (rarely) north-south directions (Mead's rules 1-5,
Mead 1975:40-41) equating to my 'Single Element' and 'Serial Repetition'
structures;
• mirror image patterns (ibid.:4l), equating to my Inversion Symmetry;
• a pattern resulting from 'shifting the mirror image chain a half place to
the side' (ibid.), equating to my Diagonally Deflected Symmetry;
• 'very complex compositions' (ibid.), equating to my Agglutination
structure.
One significant aspect of Lapita design is 'zoning', that is, 'arrangement
of design fields into horizontal layers' (ibid.:43). In Lapita pottery, these
zones are generally delimited by horizontal lines or narrow bands of
minimal design elements, called 'zone markers' by Mead (1975:24,27).
On the basis of his analysis of design elements, Anson (1983:261)
demonstrated that:
the pottery decoration of Lapita can be subdivided into two groups.
The first group consists of Ambitie, Talasea and Eloaue. The second
group consists of Watom, Reef Santa Cruz, New Caledonia, Vanuatu
(New Hebrides) and Fiji.
Further, he stated that:
Ambitie, Talasea and Eloaue appear to represent an earlier Lapita
period in the Bismarck Archipelago which predates the Lapita
expansion eastward into the Pacific by some centuries (ibid.: 277).
Thus it appears that the percentage of shared design elements decreases
over time and, where there has been movement of the cultural group
through space over a period of time, there will be a decrease in shared
designs elements over space as well. If this was so for the several centuries
it took for the Lapita style of pottery decoration to move from the Bismarck
Archipelago to the Melanesian islands further east, it would be even more
249
obviously the case over the two to three thousand years or so between the
Lapita period and the present.
Thus the identification of only a few of the Lapita design elements among
the corpus of arrow design elements in northern and central New Guinea
would not constïtute a difficulty if, in addition, the Lapita designs and the
arrow designs demonstrate a coincidence of design structures. Since I have
identified only five basic design structures, it coulcl be argued that such an
analysis would not be fine-grained enough. However, the intent of this
exercise is not so much to prove a connection between the two bodies of
design but to explore a method and to see whether it would be worthwhile
spending the time and resources to do a more sophisticated analysis using.
for example, the system of Washburn and Crowe (1988).
Continuities and discontmuities
Zoning: As stated above, zoning is a significant feature of Lapita pottery
design and zone markers are common; this does not appear to be the case
for the arrow designs. However, it can be argued that zoning is often
implied, and sometimes made explicit by zone markers (usually a line or
multiple parallel lines)7 especially in designs structured by the principle of
Agglutination (figure 65).
Figure 65. Examples of implied and actual
zoning in arrow designs.
A. Actual zone division at top and implied
where barbs divide the design - Telefol.
Mountain-Ok (not collected); B. Implied
zoning where barbs divide design - Telefol,
Mountain-Ok (W.Wheatcroft F.378):
C. Actual zoning - Dulanmin, Mountain-Ok
(not collected): D Aerual zoning Sugamin, Mountain-Ok (not collected);
E. Implied zoning - Abau (not collected).
250
FACIFIC MATERIAL CULTURE
Figure 66. The Lapita "face" design elements and corresponding arrow designs.
Anson 345, Watom: Anson 346, New Caledonia; Anson 351, Vanuatu; A. Keerom River,
'North Coast' (RvV, Leiden, 2027-19); B. Abau Cnot collected); C. Aitape, Noith Coasi
(AM, Sydney, E.29506); D. Mianmin, Mountain-Ok Cnot collected); E. Aitape, North Coast ,
(AM, Sydney, E.29506); F. Telefol, Mountain-Ok (not collected). Noie: C ancl E are
doublful correlates.
A R R O W D E S I G N S IX N O R T H E R N A N D C E N T R A L X E W G U I N E A
2M_
Structures: The analysis of arrow designs shows that SE (repetition of a
single design element in an east-west direction) and AGG (Agglutination)
are two design structures that are virtually absent for the Sibil-Mek (eastern
Irianjaya highlands) and the Uhunduni, Ekagi. Moni and Dem (western Irian
Java highlands) designs. There were only 35 West Range designs and the
absence of any of SE type may be accidental; otherwise the distribution of
design structures for this area resembles that for the Sepik Hills.
It was my impression from scanning illustrations in Anson (1983) and in
several other publications on Lapita, that the most common structurc by far
is of SE type. that SR is infrequent, IS and DDS common and AGG not
common but possibly because of the lack of published sherds large enough
to suggest more than a fraction of the whole pattern.
Design Elements: Several simple, and a couple of more complex, design
elements can be identified which are common to the arrow designs and to
Lapita Pottery. The coincidence of the simpler elements, such as straight
lines, zigzags, ovals, circles, rectangles (fig. 67a. A-C), lozenges (fig. Ó7b. AE) is difficult to consider a significant indicator of an historical relationshïp
between Lapita pottery design and recent northern and central New Guinea
arrow designs. The complex motifs are more convincing, especially the
design and its variants shown here in figure 66: called "face motifs" by
Spriggs (1990c: fig. 1). This design element was found in its least complex
Figure 6 a. Anson 489. 490, Ambitie,
Eloaue; A. Mianmin, Mountain-Ok (not
collected); B. Waina, Border Mms (USEE
1969 =569. AM, Sydney); C. Mek (MfV,
Berlin. VI 52732); Anson 310. Fiji;
D. Ab:m (PNGNMAG, E.7360).
252
Figure 6~b. Anson 242. 243, Ambitie. Eloaue; Anson 238, Santa Cruz; Anson 232. Reef.
Santa Cruz, New Calcdonia. Vanuatu; A. Mek (MfV, Berlin, VI 53698-o); B. Telefol,
Mountain-Ok (not collected); C. Sibil, Ngalum (RvV, Leiden, 3664-169); D. Abau (USEE
1969 -315, MfV, Berlin): E. Abau (USEE 1968 #481. RvV, Leiden); Anson 371, 373. Reef;
Anson 372, Waroni; F. Abau (not collected); G. Abau (nor collected); H. Mianmin,
Mountain-Ok (G.Morren collection).
form on one arrow from Aitape and on one from the upper Keerom River
(west of Imonda); the more complex forms were not found unti! as far
inland as the northern foothills of the central range, andthen it was coramon
throughout the Mountain-Ok area and among the Duna around Lakc
Kopiagoto theeast of the Strickland Gorge (Bush 1985: figs. 28d, 31). Figure
67a-f shows other Lapita design elements and somc equivalent arrow
designs.
2^3
Discussion: The simpler Lapita designs from the earliest Lapita period,
represented by material excavated at Ambitie. Talasea and Eloaue on the
Bismarck Archipelago (Anson 1983: table 12. 168. 242-243, 417, 489-490.
516) can be found on arrow designs throughout mo.st of northern and central
New Guinea, suggesting that they may have been in the repertoire of design
elements before Austronesians settled on the island.s of the Bismarck
Archipelago and cleveloped the Lapita pottery style.
Most of the more complex Lapita designs for which equivalent arrow
designs can be identified are not from the earliest Lapita period represented
by material excavated at Ambitie, Talasea and Eloaue on the Bismarck
Archipelago13, the area geographically closest to mainland New Guinea. but
from the laterLapita. period represented by material excavated at Watom (on
13
Thi.s statement might have to be modified in the light of the material excavated by Kirsch
at Eloaue. as vet unpublished (Spriggs. personal communication. january 1995).
254
255
the Bismarck Archipelago) and from sites in Reef Santa Cruz, Vanuatu, New
Caledonia and Fiji (Anson 1983: table 12, 129-132, 245-247, 304, 310, 314,
345-346, 351, 371-373, 411-413, 429 BS-RL-2 in Green 1979). The Lapita
sherds found at Aitape appear also to be of this later period and are
consistent with designs found on sherds excavated on Vanuatu (Spriggs
1990c:100).
Further, the arrow designs most likely related to the more complex of the
later Lapita designs are not those from the north coast of the mainland but
are almost entirely from well inland, along the northern slopes of the central
range (West Range, Sepik Hills) and throughout the central highlands from
the Mountain-Ok through to Lake Kopiago. This is not what I expected to
find.
Conclusion
Although the results of this rough analysis do not support the hypothesis
that the more complex arrow designs of northern and central New Guinea
most likely were derived from early period Lapita pottery designs as
represented by material excavated at various sites throughout the Bismarck
Archipelago, they do suggest that arrow designs found throughout the
northern foothills, and the central range from the Mountain-Ok to Lake
Kopiago, could have derived from the later period of Lapita pottery designs
represented by material excavated at sites on Watom and throughout central
and eastern Melanesia. Although I have not attempted to demonstrate this
in this paper, the more complex designs on north coast mainland New
Guinea arrows would appear to be more closely related to contemporary
southeast Asian designs, particularly in their frequent use of spirals and this
is also characteristic of designs further inland, especially in the West Range,
Sepik Hills, Mountain-Ok and Porgera-Lagaiap River regions.14
These features suggest perhaps three episodes of influence on designs
on arrows of northern and central New Guinea:
i the earliest period characterised by the simplest design elements, also
shared by the earliest Lapita designs from the Bismarck Archipelago,
found on arrow designs throughout the north coast and central New
Guinea regions (there is no necessary implication that the arrow designs
were derived from Lapita designs);
ii a later period characterised by the more complex design elements,
deriving from later Lapita pottery designs, found on arrow designs in the
northern foothills and central highlands of New Guinea east of the Irian
Jaya-Papua New Guinea border;
14
The spiral element in these inland regions is usecl in a different way to its use in the north
coast and upper Sepik regions. In the former regions, the spirals are usually arranged within
an SE, SR or AGG structure whereas in the latter regions they are usually arranged within a DDS
structure.
256
iii a more recent period characterised by design elements that appear to be
relatively contemporary and southea.st Asian in origin, found on arrow
designs of the north coast, Border Mountains, upper Sepik, Mountain-Ok
and Porgera-Lagaiap River regions.15
This scenario requires a more thorough analysis and the method
proposed by Washburn and Crowe would appear to offer a fruitful
approach. This would require the re-examination of as much Lapita material
from Melanesia as possible and a re-analysis of the arrow designs using the
same system, with the results analysed by a suitable computer program.
In addition, other analyses could be made to explore the relationships of
graphic designs on a range of objects of the Lake Sentani area and of the
Border Mountains-upper Sepik area. A cursory perusal shows direct comparisons can be made between the designs on smoking equipment, bamboo
and gourd limepots, bamboo flutes, handdrums and wooden bowls of Lake
Sentani and equivalent paraphernalia of the Border Mountains and upper
Sepik (Kooijman 1959, plates 56-58, 60-61, 70-71, 73-81, 87-89; Van der
Sande 1907, figs. 100 a and b, 149-151 and plates 1, 4-6, 28-29). The designs
engraved on arrow shafts of the Sarmi area to the west of Sentani could also
be considered in this context (Van der Leeden 1962: figs. 2-4). This line of
enquiry may elucidate 'the more recent period' of southeast Asian influence
hypothesised above and would complement the linguistic studies of
Philsooph (1990).
Although there is much scepticism about the value of looking for
parallels between prehistorie and contemporary graphic designs, it is likely
that well-conducted analyses, using a large number of objects and employing a culturally neutral and fine-grained analytic method could yield
worthwhile results.
Acknowledgements
I wish to thank Chris Ballard, Jack Golson, Jim Specht and Matthew
Spriggs for looking at this manuscript at short notice and providing useful
criticisms.
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1983
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1992
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15
This proposition cannot be examined here; it is a project on its own.
257
State of the art, regional rock art studies in Australia and Melanesia. Occasional
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1985
Form and decoration of arrows from the Highlands of Papua New Guinea.
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1976
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1990
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1990
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1979
Early Lapita art from Polynesia and Island Melanesia, continuities in
ceramic, barkcloth, and tattoo decorations. In: Sidney M. Mead (ed.),
Exploring the visual arts of Oceania, Australia, Melanesia, Micronesia and
Polynesia. Honolulu. Pp. 13-31.
1990
Lapita design analysis, the Mead system and its use, a potted history. In:
Matthew Spriggs (ed.), Lapita design, form and composition. Canberra, Pp.
33-52.
Heider, Karl G.
1970
The Dugum Dani. Viking Fund Publications in Anthropology No.49.
New York.
Kooijman, Simon
1959
The art ofLake Sentani. New York.
1962
Material aspects of the Star Mountains culture. Nova Guinea. Anthropology 2:15-44 and plates 1-20.
Laycock, Donald C.
1973
Sepik languages, checklist andpreliminary classification. Pacific Linguistics B 25. Canberra.
Leeclen, A. C. van der
1962
The arrows of Sarmi. In: The wonder of'man's ingenuity. Mededelingen
van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden, No. 15. Pp. 81-101.
258
Mead, Sidney M.
1975
The decorative system of the Lapita potters of Sigatoka, Fiji. In: Sidney M.
Mead, L. Birks, H. Birks and E. Shaw (eds.), The Lapita pottery style of Fiji
and its associations. Polynesian Society Memoir No.38. Wellington, N.Z.
Pp. 19-43.
Newton, D.
1988 Reflections in bronze, Lapita and Dong-son art in the Western Pacific. In:
J. P. Barbier and D. Newton (eds.) Islands andancestors, indigenousstyles
of'southeast Asia, 10-23. Munich: Prestel.
Niles, Don
1983
Why are there no Garamuts in Papua? Bikmaus 4:90-104.
Philsooph, H.
1990
Open structures, aspects of cross-cultural influence in the Sepik in relation
to Southeast Asia, India, and the Middle East. In: Nancy Lutkehaus et al.
(eds.), Sepik heritage, tradition and change in Papua New Guinea.
Durham, North Carolina. Pp. 87-115.
Ross, M. D.
1989
Early Oceanic linguistic prehistory. Journal of Pacific History
24(2):135-149.
Sande, G. A. J. van der
1907
Results of the Dutch Scientific Expedition to New Guinea in 1903,
ethnography and anthropology. Nova Guinea 3. Leiden.
Schefold, R.
1966
Versuch einer Stilanalyse der Aufhangeh aken vom Minieren Sepik in NeuGuinea. Basler Beitrage zur Ethnologie, Band 4. Basel.
Spriggs, Matthew (ed.)
1990
Lapita design, form and composition. Occasional papers in prehistory 19.
Canberra.
1990a Introduction, The Lapita Design Project. In: Matthew Spriggs (ed.), Lapita
design, form and composition. Occasional papers in prehistory 19. Pp. 15. Canberra.
1990b Dating Lapita, another view. In: Matthew Spriggs (ed.), Lapita design, form
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1990c The changing face of Lapita, transformation of a design. In: Matthew
Spriggs (ed.), Lapita design, form and composition. Occasional Papers in
prehistory 19. Canberra. Pp. 83-122.
Swadling, Pamela
1983
How long have people been in the Ok Tedi Impact Region? PNG National
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1988
The Sepik-Ramu, an introduction. Boroko, Papua New Guinea.
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1990
Late Quaternary inland sea and early pottery in Papua New Guinea.
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259
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1992
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Van der Sande see: Sande, G. A. J. van der
Voorhoeve, C. L.
1975
Languages of Irian Jaya, checklist, preliminary classification, language
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Washburn, D.K. and D.W. Crowe
1988
Symmetries of culture, theory and practice of plane pattern analysis.
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Welsch, R. L., J. Terrell and J. A. Nadolski
1992
Language and culture on the North Coast of New Guinea. American
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1975
The languages of the Madang District, Papua New Guinea. Pacific Linguistics B 41. Canberra.
260
13
A MATTER OF PRINCIPLES
RULES OF COMBINATION AND
TRANSFORMATION IN
ASMAT ORNAMENTATION
Ad Boeren
Introduction
In 1976 I spent three months in the cellars of the National Museum of
Ethnology in Leiden, studying the collection of Asmat war shields. The study
was to lead to a doctoral thesis, and the research topic was suggested to me
by Prof. Adrian Gerbrands, at that time Professor of Anthropology at Leiden
University. At the museum my work was supervised by Dr. Simon Kooijman,
who introduced me to the museum, the collection of Asmat artifacts, the
relevant literature, and the principles of precise description of artifacts and
their stylistic characteristics. Due to his inspiring guidance my daily descent
into the cellars of the museum became a fascinating journey into the
fabulous world of the Asmat woodcarvers' creative imagination.
The aim of the study was to define the stylistic characteristics of Asmat
war shields and their geographical origin. My attention was soon caught by
the systematic resemblances and differences in the ornamentation of the
shields. Influenced by Levi Strauss' structural analyses of cultural phenomena which, in those days, were quite popular among Leiden anthropologists,
I decided to face the challenge of trying to 'discover' the underlying system
of Asmat ornamentation. For this purpose, a thorough comparison was made
between all the major ornaments, on the basis of their formal characteristics.
The result of the analysis was a number of rules which seemed to govern
the system of ornamentation. When I presented these results to fellow
anthropologists, few of them shared my enthusiasm. Their reaction was that
of the average visitor to a museum of modern art: 'Very interesting, but what
does it mean?' Obviously, we were talking about two different sorts of
'meaning'. To me the results of the analysis constituted the 'deeper' meaning
of the ornamentation, pointing to fundamental ordering principles which
may govern the Asmat culture in all its aspects. The 'meaning' of the
individual ornaments represented a different level - a more superficial and
not very reliable level for that matter, since the sources which had attempted
to establish the meaning of the individual motifs quoted many different
interpretations of one and the same ornament.
261
Almost ten years have passed since the results of this 'formal analysis'
were published in Teken van leven, studies in etnocommunicatie (1985), a
Liber Amicorum for Prof. Gerbrands. A more extensive article on the subject,
in English and richly illustrated, was meant to appear in a book on Asmat
art, which never appeared. Therefore, I am very happy to have the
opportunity of presenting the results of the formal analysis in this volume,
this time in English. Despite the passing of time and the inevitable change
of ideas in anthropological discourse, I am still convinced of the value of
formal structural analysis in the study of human culture, and it is fitting that
this testimony appears in a commemorative book for the man who shares
the responsibility for my interest in the nature of Asmat ornamentation.
The Asmat
The Asmat people live in a vast area situated on the South coast of Irian
Jaya (Indonesia) an area covered with tropical forest and traversed by a great
number of rivers and interconnecting waterways. The area is inhabited by
some 64,000 people, divided into several groups distinguished by language,
dialect and other cultural differences (Smidt 1993a:15). Nevertheless,
similarities in ways of life and material culture underline the cultural unity
of the area. In the coastal areas hunting and gathering predominate, while
the inland groups depend on domesticated pigs and horticulture for their
livelihood. Traditionally, ancestor beliefs formed the core of their religious
thinking, and until recently the Asmat had the reputation of being fierce
head-hunters and cannibals. The area is famous for its material culture in the
form of ancestor poles, canoes, spears, drums and war shields, all extensively decorated with a great variety of motifs. All decorations refer, in form or
in content, to ancestors, c.q. head-hunters, or their substitutes. This article
focuses on the decorations of war shields. They were traditionally made at
a shield festival, which served as the preliminary to a head-hunting raid. The
pattern carved on the front of the shield often refers to various ancestors.
The naming, and consequent presence of the ancestors' spirits in the shield,
gave the warrior supernatural support in battle (Smidt 1993a:23).
STYLISTIC ANALYSIS
The stylistic analysis of 1976 was performed on 372 shields of which
the provenance had been fairly specifically documented. Of this total
number, 318 originated from the North-west and central Asmat area, and 54
from the more easterly areas surrounding the Wildeman-, Ederah and Digul
rivers. A total number of 131 shields belong to the collection of the National
Museum of Ethnology. The rest of the research population was made up of
black-and-white photographs of Asmat shields.1 In 289 cases a fairly
1
Apart from the 131 shields in the National Museum of Ethnology in Leiden, 93 photographs
of shields in the photo archives of the museum, 67 photographs byjac. Hoogerbrugge, and the
illustrations of shields in The Asmat, the journal of Michael Clark Rockefeller edited by
Gerbrands (1967b), have been used.
262
accurate date of acquisition or photographic registration was available. A
substantive number of the shields (128) had been collected between 1958
and 1961. Seventy shields dated from the period 1966-1975. The rest had
been collected before 1954, the oldest being a shield which was acquired
by the Museum in 1906.
After careful observation of the shields, nine distinguishing stylistic
characteristics were defined. They included:
1. The shape of the shield.
2. The ornaments that form the decoration on the front.
3. The level of symmetry in the ornamentation.
4. The utilization of available space.
5. The frames bordering the ornamentation.
6. Sculptures at the top of the shield.
7. The use of colour.
8. The depth of the carved relief.
9. Ornamentation on the back of the shield.
Next, the analysis established the geographical distribution of the various
appearances (i.e., variants) of these stylistic characteristics. For a detailed
account of the methodology which guided the stylistic analysis, I refer to
Boeren (1976).
With due regard for the imperfect composition of the research material,
the analysis seemed to justify the assumption of eight sub-style regions in
the territory. Of these eight regions, four produce shields with specific and
distinct characteristics. These 'core-style regions' are: the upstream of the
Pomatsj River (region A); the Casuarinen Coast (region B); the Wildeman
River (region C); and the area along the Digul and Ederah Rivers (region D).
The shields from these regions clearly differ with regard to the shape of the
shields, the utilization of space, the balance between colour areas, top
ornaments and decoration. The shields from the other four regions are
stylistic blends which combine characteristics of the more distinct style
regions.
Fig. 68 indicates the geographical provenance of the core-style regions.
The shields of figures 69-76 can be regarded as characteristic for the
respective regions.
In his article on style regions and motifs in Asmat woodcarving art, Smidt
(1993b) presents specimens of four stylistic regions: the North-West style
region; the Central-style region; the Citak-style region; and the Brazza-style
region. The first three regions more or less correspond with what we have
called the upper Pomatsj River, Casuarinen Coast and Wildeman River. The
fourth region mentioned by Smidt, that of the Brazza River, lies just north
of the Citak area. The shields from these two regions are fairly similar in
appearance. The 1976 analysis did not include shields from the Brazza River.
At that time, Gunter and Ursula Konrad had already collected an impressive
group of Brazza artifacts, but these had not yet been fully documented and
published (Konrad, Konrad and Schneebaum 1981).
A MATTKK Of PRINCIPLES
Üil
Figure 68. Map of Soulii Irian jaya, The four 'core-style regions'. (Map hy Frans Stelling)
264
A MATTER OF PRTNCIPLES
265
266
Smidt's presentation does not include specimen of shields which originated in the areas along the Digul and Ederah Rivers. It can be argued that
this area which is inhabited by the Awju and Yakai falls beyond the Asmat
territory. However, the shields from this area (core-style region D) are very
interesting. On the one hand their motifs are strongly related to the ones
utilized in the three other regions; on the other they contrast in a systematic
way with the shields from their westerly neighbours. They differ systematically in size, shape, the balance between colours, and in ornamentation. In
many respects they are the antipoles of the 'Asmat' shields, and this fact
makes them important 'informants' in the search for systematic rules in
ornamentation which govern the woodcarving of the territory at large.
Observations in connection with the stylistic analysis
The analysis of style characteristics led to some interesting observations.
The shields from the Asmat area, as well as those of the Wildeman, Oba,
Ederah and Digul rivers, are very similar in their composition. Despite
variation and variety in form, the ornaments on all the shields seem to be
closely related. If the ornaments were to be arranged according to similarity,
they would form a series in which the forms shade off into one another, an
effect comparable with the famous drawings (the metamorphoses) by M. C.
Escher (Locher 1971).
The shape and ornamentation of the shields vary considerably, but
always between two extremes. They are oval or rectangular in shape — or
a shape in between. The shields are either covered with an array of smaller
ornaments, or the front is dominated by a few major motifs - or there is a
combination of these two options. The ornaments are realistic representations, or they are abstract forms - or a level of abstraction in between the
two.
The shields also vary widely in the predominance of a particular colour.
Three colours are used throughout the territory: red, white and black. In
some shields red-coloured ornaments stand out clearly against a white
background. In others, the coloured areas seem to be completely in balance,
with the result that the ornamentation can be 'read' in red as well as in white.
In yet others, white is the colour of the individual ornaments against a red
background.
The stylistic analysis made a few things clear. First, the Asmat carving is
of a dynamic nature. The artist apparently has great liberty in experimenting
with forms, and uses this opportunity in a very inventive way. Second, this
experimentation appears to be based on a set of rules that influence the
selection of elements and their combination. Third, these rules are effective
in both the Asmat area and the areas surrounding the Wildeman, Oba,
Ederah and Digul Rivers.
267
FORMAL ANALYSIS
The formal analysi.s which followed the stylistic analysis was designed to
discover the rules which seem to govern Asmat ornamentation. Tt was
hypothesized that these rules might well explain the fairly obvious interrelationship between shields from geographically remote areas, as well as
shedding lïght on the dynamic charactcr of Asmat woodcarving. The
methodological approach to the analysis consisted of a systematic comparison of the shields on the basis of similarities and differences in shape and
ornamentation. It resulted in two sets of rules, one set which governs the
combination of elements into ornaments and of ornaments into series, and
another set which consists of transformations, i.e.. simple operations by
which ornaments can bc 'translated' into others.
Rules of combination
The rules of combination can be observed at three levels: a) the
composition of individual ornaments; b) the combination of these ornaments into series: and c) the arrangement of the ornamentation on the front
of the shield. In Asmat decoration these three levels are closely interwoven,
with the understanding that the same rule of combination underlies the three
levels, and that the rule which defines the composition of the individual
ornaments influences, to a great degree, the combination of ornaments into
series.2
All major Asmat ornaments are compositions which are made of the same
'building block'. In figure 77 this building block, which has the form of a
'cornma', has been depicted in four different positions. Next to them stand
two 'S' shaped forms which constitute a rotation of the 'comma' over an
angle of 180'. With these basic elements all major Asmat ornaments can be
created or reconstructed. Creation or reconstruction of Asmat ornaments is
achieved by systematically reflecting the basic elements along horizontal
and vertical axes. The results of this generative process of reflection are
shown in figures 78-83. The compositions which emerge are to a certain
extent theoretieal in nature. Not all ornaments which can possibly be
derived from these compositions are used by the Asmat woodcarvers.
Ornaments which appear frequently on Asmat war shields have been given
an asterix.
268
PACIFIC MATER1AL CULTURE
269
The figures also show that this rule of combination tends to generate
series of identical ornaments. Series can also be created by repeating
identical ornaments along vertical or horizontal axes. In the case of some
ornaments, reflection or repetition gives the same result.
The ornamentation of Asmat shields consists predominantly of reflected
or repeated series of identical ornaments. Exceptions are the shields from
the 'upper Pomatsj' region whïch have combinations of differing ornaments
grouped along a vertical axïs. Usually, the upper half of these shields is
symmetrical with the lower half. In all style regïons, the series tend to be
270
PACIFIC MATERTAL CULTURE
one-dimensional (a single vertical row of identical ornaments). However, a
minority of shields from the 'Wildeman' and 'Digul' regions shows twodimensional series (the ornaments have been reflected horizontally as weil
as verticaliy).
Both rules of combination (reflection and repetition) have consequences
for the spatial division on the front of the shield. Reflection along horizontal
and vertical axes automatically leads to bilateral symmetry, horizontally as
well as verticaliy. Repetition along a vertical axis equally results in bilaterally
symmetrical compositions. As a consequence, all shields, irrespective of
reflected or repeatcd ornamentations, are bilaterally symmetrical along a
vertical axis. This axis runs clown the middle of the front.
Rules of transformation
On the basis of simple operations it is possible to 'translate' certain
ornaments into others, ancl to show the connection between ornaments that
are not shown in figures 78-83 with ornaments that are. Three operations are
of importance: a) rotation, b) inversion ancl c) transposition. They are
employed separately as well as in combination.
A MATTER OF PRIXCIPLES
271
272
a) Rotation. As has been explained above, the figures 78-83 have been
composed on the basis of the six elements in figure 77. Basic elements a, c.
and e can be transformed in elements b, d and f respectively by rotating them
through angles of 90° or 270". Consequently, the compositions in figures 78,
80 and 82 can similarly be transformed into the compositions of figures 79,
81 and 83, simply by rotating them through the same angles. A substantial
number of ornaments which are typical for the 'upper Pomatsj' region can
be transformed into 'Casuarinen Coast' ornaments by applying this rule of
rotation. This process of transformation can also be reversed, of course.
b) Inversion. The figures 78-83 also include a number of 'hidden'
ornaments. These are the white areas enclosed by the dark motifs. When
observed on shields, these forms are coloured not white, but red. Red and
white are the colours of contrast in Asmat ornamentation. Hence, by
inverting the colours in figures 78-83 another set of ornaments appears.
In Asmat shields, inversion of colours can be observed in two types. One
type of inversion occurs between shields, i.e., two shields are identical with
respect to ornamentation, the only difference being that what is coloured
red on the one shield is coloured white on the other, and vice versa.
Examples of inversion between shields are shown below. The ornamentation on the shield of plate 21 is an inversion of that on the shield of plate
20. The same rule of transformation applies to shields 84 and 85. Inversion
of this type occurs between shields from within the 'Digul' region and
between shields from this region and those from the 'Casuarinen Coast'. In
other words, certain Casuarinen Coast ornaments can be transformed in
Digul ones by inverting the colours red and white, and vice versa.
In the other type of inversion, the ornamentation of a shield is in contrast
with itself. The white and red coloured areas are in complete balance, in
such a way that both colour areas form separate ornaments. The example
provided by the shield of plate 22 speaks for itself. This type of inversion
is found on many shields from the 'Wildeman' and 'Digul' regions.
c) Transposition. The third type of transformation is transposition, and
the result of this process is an overlapping of elements and ornaments. In
Asmat ornamentation transposition occurs in two forms.
In the first, an ornament or element partly overlaps its reflected
counterpart. The result is an independent ornament. An example of this
(formative) transposition is depicted in figure 86. Through transposition, the
ornaments of the shield on the left can be transformed into those on the
right. This type of transformation relates a number of ornaments from the
'upper Pomatsj' region with ornaments from the 'Casuarinen Coast'.
The second form of transposition occurs when a series of identical
ornaments is made to overlap, figure 87 shows a number of examples. This
type of (decorative) transposition is quite common on shields from the
'Wildeman' and 'Digul' regions.
A MATTER OF PR1NCIPLES
273
274
A MATTER OF PRINCIPI.ES
275
Figure 88. Interrelaledness of ornaments
R = rotation
T = iransposition
i = inversion
The style analysis and formal analysis combined
The formal analysis provides the explanaiion for the earlier observations
that the shields from all over the greater Asmat territory, despite great variety
in appearance, show a strong relationship. All ornaments, from the westerly
and central as well easterly regions, are based upon combinations of a single
basic element, the 'comma'. Ornaments are made, and compositions formeel
by systematically applying the rule of reflection to this element (and the
derived S-figure) along vertical and horizontal axes. One of the results is that
all shields are bilaterally symmetrical along a central vertical axis that runs
down the front.
Reflection and combination of the basic elements results in a number of
characteristic Asmat ornaments. This number is expanded by applying three
mies of transformation to these ornaments: inversion of colours; rotation;
and transposition. Tn figure 88 an attempt has been made to show the
relationships between a number of characteristic motifs of the core-style
regions by using these rules of transformation.
Examined together, the rules of combination and transformation account
for the intricate relationships which exist between various ornamentations
and individual ornaments throughout the territory.
276
REGIONAL DISTINCTIONS
The regional differences between the shields are not just confined to a
difference in the ornaments beingused. Theyextendto differences of shape,
use of colour, composition, rules of combination and transformation, as well
as to the level of abstraction in the ornamentation.
The majority of ornaments that predominate in the North-western 'upper
Pomatsj' region are iconic. They depict, recognizably, flying animals such
as herons and flying-foxes. Iconic representations are also found in the
'Casuarinen Coast' region in the form of human figures, praying mantises
and shell nose-ornaments. Moving to the North-east ('Wildeman' region)
and to the East ('Digul' region), the ornaments become more abstract in
nature and are quite often integrated into ingenious patterns. This often
coincides with inversion of colour and overlapping ornaments. It looks as
if, starting in the West and moving towards the East, the decorations become
increasingly decorative and less iconic.
Other West-East differences relate to the rules of combination and
transformation. In the 'upper Pomatsj' and 'Casuarinen Coast' regions, the
dominant motifs are combined into series along one single vertical axis. In
the easterly regions shields can be found which combine ornaments along
multiple vertical as well as horizontal axes.
Transformation of ornaments by rotation is most common in the 'upper
Pomatsj' and 'Casuarinen Coast' regions. Also common to these regions is
the rule of transposition whereby two ornaments are merged to form a new
one.
Inversion is a rather 'easterly' phenomenon and the type in which
ornaments seem to contrast with themselves is quite specific for the
'Wildeman' region. The two easterly regions are also quite unique in
applying the rule of transposition whereby series of identical ornaments are
interlocked.
The balance of colours is another feature which distinguishes westerly
and easterly ornamentations. In the West the dominant motifs clearly stand
out against a white background. In the 'Wildeman' region red and white are
often in balance, while in the 'Digul' region quite a number of ornaments
are executed in white.
The observed differences apparently coincide with geographical denominators. Below, pairs of opposing characteristics have been grouped in line
with their geographical provenance. A word of caution is in order, however:
the observed distinctions are 'tendencies' rather than fixed rules, since even
within style regions, ornamentations are pluriform.
West
• iconic representation
• combination along a vertical
axis
• generative transposition
• rotation
• dominant colour: red
• combination of individual
ornaments
277
East
• 'abstract' representation
• combination along vertical and
horizontal axes
• interlocking transposition
• inversion
• balance of colours and white as
dominant colour
• intricate patterns
To a great extent the 'easterly' characteristics are related, and even evoke
each other. More abstract representation easily leads to interlocking transposition, balance and inversion of colours, combination along a multiple of
axes, and consequently the forming of complex patterns of entangled
ornaments.
The interrelationship between the 'westerly' characteristics is less strong.
Iconic representation and dominant colour go together in order to distinguish the ornament from its background. The other characteristics, e.g.,
rotation, formative transposition and combination along a single vertical
axis, do not necessarily relate to iconic representation.
Discussion
The results of both analyses evoke a number of interesting hypotheses
about the relationships between ornamentation and local interpretation,
between regional variation in ornamentation and variation in other cultural
aspects, and about the function of art in society at a conscious and
unconscious level. Above we have observed that the ornaments of the
'upper Pomatsj' and 'Casuarinen Coast' regions are more iconic than those
of the easterly regions. Depictions include herons and flying-foxes ('upper
Pomatsj') and human figures, praying mantises and shell nose ornaments
('Casuarinen Coast'). As can be seen from figure 88 these ornaments are
related. By means of rotation and formative transposition they can be
translated into each other. In the areas situated in between these core-style
regions the ornamentation of the shields seems to blend the two styles. Their
forms mediate between ornaments that are common to the two regions. In
a way, they visualize a process of transformation.
In a few shields this process of transformation seems to be the main
subject of the decoration. Figure 89 shows two shields from the 'Casuarinen
Coast' region. Next to them, a number of ornaments are depicted which are
obtained when the complex ornamentation pattern is disentangled. The two
ornamentations have been viewed from a vertical as well as a horizontal
position (which means a 90° rotation). Some of the 'separated' ornaments are
specific to style region A, others to style regions B and D. The intricate
ornamentations themselves are only found on shields from region B.
Therefore, these ornaments not only show an ingenious synthesis of
ornaments but also of styles.
278
279
Apparently the woodcarver through his work, consciously or unconsciously, tries to establish a synthesis between separate elements. This
process of transformation, mediation and synthesis in the woodcarving art
seems to be a visualization of a similar process which takes place at the
ideological level of Asmat culture. This assumption is not as far-fetched as
it may appear when we consider the mythological system to which the
ornaments refer. From the literature we know that certain animals such as
birds, flying-foxes, wènèts and wild pigs are regarded by the Asmat as
symbolic substitutes for the human head-hunter (Gerbrands 1962, 1966,
1967). The festive outfit of the head-hunter exhibits parts (parspro toto) of
these animals. In Asmat thought the head of a human being is regarded as
a fruit and head-hunting as picking fruits from trees. Hence, fruit-eating
animals are closely associated with head-hunting. The association of headhunter with the wènèt is based on another type of analogy. After mating, the
female wènèt apparently bites off the head of the male. In this act, life and
death, killing and procreation are intertwined. To the Asmat, head-hunting
has the same connotations. The hunting of heads, i.e., harvesting of fruits,
is a necessary condition for procreation. In former days newly hunted heads
were a crucial object in the initiation ceremonies for boys. The head
permitted the transition from boyhood to that of manhood, i.e., to sexual
activity and the starting of a family.
There exists a strong homology between the visual transformation system
of the ornamentation and the conceptual transformation system which
allows the exchange of identity between human and animal head-hunters.
The concept of continuity which, in the head-hunting ideology, is expressed
in acts of procreation and the linking of successive generations, finds its
equivalent at the ornamentation level in the rules of combination which
compose series of ornaments. It looks as if the process of interchanging
identities between human and animal head-hunters finds its counterpart in
the rules of transformation which enable individual ornaments to be
'translated' into others. In their creative work, the collective of Asmat
woodcarvers not only accomplishes a synthesis between separate ornaments, but also between ideology and ornamentation. They bridge the gap
between entities which at first sight are imcompatible, and bring the world
of the living into balance with the world of the spirits.
Note: All drawings by the author, except figure 68.
References cited
Boeren, A. J. J. M.
1976
Verslag van een stage op het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde te Leiden
(manuscript)
1985
Asmat motieven, regels van combinatie en transformatie. In: Ad Boeren,
Fransje Brinkgreve and Sandy Roels Ceds.), Teken van leven, studies in
etnocommunicatie, liber amicorum bij het afscheid van Professor dr. A. A.
Gerbrands, 171-186. ICA Publicatie 71. Leiden.
Gerbrands, A. A.
1962
Symbolism in the art of Amanamkai, Asmat, South New Guinea. In: The
wonder of man 's ingenuity, being a series of studies in archaeology,
material culture, and social anthropology by members of the academie
staff of the National Museum ofEthnology.publishedon the occasion of the
museum's 125th anniversary. Mededelingen van het Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde 15, pp. 37-41. Leiden.
1966
De taal der dingen. Inaugural lecture. Den Haag: Mouton.
1967a Wow-Ipits. eight Asmat woodcarvers of New Guinea. Art in its context.
Studies in ethno-aesthetics. Field reports Vol. 3. The Hague: Mouton.
Den Haag: Mouton.
1967b (editor) The Asmat of New Guinea, thejournal ofMichael Clark Rockefeller.
New York: The Museum of Primitive Art.
1977
Spiegelen, uitklappen en omkeren, een aspect van etno-communicatie. ICA
festival paper. Leiden.
Konrad, Gunter, Ursula Konrad and Tobias Schneebaum
1981
Asmat, Leben mit den Ahnen, steinzeitliche Holzschnitzer unserer Zeil /
Asmat, lifewith the ancestors, lifewith the ancestors, stoneage woodcarvers
in our time. Glashütten/Taunus: Brückner.
Kooijman, S.
1956
Art of Southwestern New Guinea, a preliminary survey. Antiquity and
survival 5: 343-372
Locher, J. L. (ed.)
1971
De iverelden van M. C. Escher. Amsterdam: Meulenhoff.
Smidt, Dirk A. M.
1993a The Asmat, life, death and the ancestors. In: Dirk A. M. Smidt (ed.), Asmat
art, woodcarvings of'Southwest New Guinea, 15-25. Hongkong: Periplus,
Leiden: Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Amsterdam: Zwartenkot.
1993b Woodcarving art, style regions and motifs. In: (idem), 53-61.
281
RELIGION AND RITUAL
282
U
THE ORO-MARO-ARIOI CONNECTION
Henri J. M. Claessen
,
Kooijman and Oro
Some years ago Simon Kooijman devoted a substantial article to the
'Ancient Tahitian god-figures', which appeared in the prestigious Journal of
the Polynesian Society (1964:110-125). In it he describes and analyses the
to'o, the material representations of the Tahitian gods.
To 'o are shaped like a club, and have a core consisting of a wooden
stick. This core is entirely or partially covered with plaited sennit, in
many cases showing a kind of relief decoration consisting of 'appliqué' strands of cords made of twisted fibres. Attached to this covering,
as principal attribute of the deity, were feathers 'impregnated with the
essence of divinity'. (Kooijman 1964:110).
The feathers have since disappeared, but the remaining wooden sticks
with the plaited sennit (= braided cordage) covering can be found in several
museums, for example in the National Museum of Ethnology in Leiden (fig.
90).
On the basis of the literature then available Kooijman discusses the role
of these statutes in traditional Tahitian society. It appears that their main
interest lay not so much in the religious field, but in the political: such godfigures, in combination with feather girdles, decided the rank and status of
the competing arii. Small wonder that the possession of these idols was
fiercely contested in eighteenth century Tahiti. Several of these objects have
been preserved and are now in the possession of museums. Kooijman
mentions at least seven of such idols (1964:117-118). It is not clear, however,
if all fhese idols represented the god Oro, the Tahitian god of war, or
nted other deities or spirits. This also holds good for the Leiden to'o,
ich no particulars are known' (Kooijman 1964:118; cf. Verslag
. The Leiden idol strongly resembles the god-figures assumed to be
mtation of Oro, but that is all there can be said. Kooijman, on the
in extensive survey of the literature, therefore concludes:
28.^
Figure 90. To'o, god-figure, Tahiti. RMV 3299-1.
It must by now be elear that the sennit-clad gocl-figures from Tahiti
called to'o represent either the god Oro himself or divine or deified
beings closely relatcd to Oro. (Kooijman 1964:120).
This makes sensc. for if it had been relatively easy to make Oro images,
there would have been no necessity for the fierce competition to obtain an
Oro image, as occurred in Tahiti in the eighteenth century.
Finally, Kooijman poïnts out that Oro was not only the god of war and
death, but that, being the tutelary god of the Arioi society, Oro also had
connotations of fertility (1964:122. 123). This view has recently been
discussed by the French anthropologist Babadzan (1993). who - though
agreeing with the fertility hypothesis - quite surprisingly accuses Kooijman
of not having understood that. apart from the Oro statues. there have been
other figures, which:
figuraient tout au plus dans un culte souvent consacré a Oro (et en
tout cas toujours a une divinité majeure), sans pouvoir être
pour autant légitimement confondus avec la représentation de cette
divinité. (Babadzan 1993:97)
284
The above quotation from Kooijman's article demonstrates, however,
that he was very we 11 aware of the fact that not all to'o figures represented
Oro. Babadzan's comments in this respect thus seem wide of the mark.
Since Kooijman's article several important publications on traditional
Tahitian society have appeared (e.g., Morrison 1966 [1793], Oliver 1974,
1988 [Bligh 1792]; Rose 1978; Babadzan 1993). It thus seems possible now
to present in more detail the role of the god Oro in the turbulent history of
Tahitian polities in the eighteenth century. There is no reason here to go into
the material aspects of the 'ancient Tahitian god-figures'; these have been
covered already in an exhaustive way by Kooijman.
Of Gods and Girdles
There are various versions of the origin of Oro and the Oro cult, but
Oliver (1974:891 ff.) thinks that we may safely assume that Oro was male,
a descendant of the high god Ta'aroa, and that his worship originated on the
island of Raiatea, some 200 kilometres west of Tahiti. The first marae
connected with Oro was Taputapuatea, located in the district of Opoa in
Raiatea. From the very beginning Oro was associated with war. In due
course the Oro worship spread to other islands, and finally reached Tahiti,
probably at the beginning of the eighteenth century. In the course of this
process some more-or-less local forms of the Oro cult developed. In
Porapora Oro became associated with yellow feathers, attached to a girdle,
the maro tea, and in Tahiti the Oro cult became associated with red feathers,
attached to the maro ura (Oliver 1974:904).
These maroshad great political value. Only the highest arn were entitled
to wear such girdles during specific ritual occasions (Rose 1978). This right
was connected with 'named kin-Titles', which were the property of the
leading family lines associated with specific temples (Oliver 1988:45). These
titles passed from parent to child, preferably to the eldest son. It must be
emphasized, however, that women also could (and often did) hold kinTitles. The kin-Titles (to use Oliver's term) of both parents passed immediately after the birth of a son to that child (1988:46). Usually the father
continued to rule the polity, but now as the regent for his son; in this way
he was no longer hampered in his political activities by ritual obligations,
as his son now bore these responsibilities (Cook 1968:134; Claessen
1978:452 ff.). This situation often led to great tensions between father and
son, the one having the title and the ritual obligations, the other having the
actual political power. Bligh's Journal of his second visit to Tahiti (Bligh
1792) contains several indications of such tension between father and son
Pomare (I will use these names, as they have become well known;
moreover, the Tahitian custom of repeatedly taking new names makes the
identification of specific arii quite difficult.
The political landscape of Tahiti was rather complex in the eighteenth
century. There were a number of more-or-less independent polities, some
285
of which had reached the level of early states (Claessen 1978). The most
important were Papara in the south, Tautira in the east, and Pare-Arue (Te
Porionuu), and Atehuru in the west. In the rivalry between these powers the
possession of the Oro image, and the right to wear one of the sacred maros
associated with Oro, played a crucial role. To obtain the support of Oro,
human sacrifices were necessary 'and the only persons qualified to preside
over such a sacrifice were holders of certain Opoa kin-Titles', the arii rahi,
or arii maro ura (Oliver 1988:49). Moreover, such rites could be performed
only at marae called Taputapuatea, temples dedicated to Oro as god of war,
and in the presence of images serving as receptacles for that god (Oliver
1988:49, 117, 145). Though this statement of Oliver's is quite clear, it does
not explain the position of the maro tea, the yellow girdle, which was closely
connected with the Oro cult on the island of Porapora. I will return to this
girdle presently. First I will present some data on the human sacrifices.
The first description of a human sacrifice was given by James Cook, who
with some of his officers witnessed such a ritual in September 1777 (Cook
1967:198-204). The corpse of the victim was brought by canoe to the large
marae at Atehuru (the exact location of this marae is not clear. According
to Cook's editor Beaglehole, footnote 6, p. 198-199, it was probably the
marae in the Paea district of Atehuru. Oliver, 1988:117, confirms this
identification). The presence of Pomare I ('Otoo' by Cook) was necessary
- for he was entitled to wear a maro:
During this prayer a man who stood by the Priest held in his hands
two small bundies seemingly of Cloth, in one as we afterwards found,
was the Royal Maro and the other, if I may be allowed the expression,
was the ark of the Eatua. (note 3, p. 200: the image or symbol, of the
god) (Cook 1967:200)
After several prayers, some hair was pulled from the head of the sacrifice,
and then one of the eyes was taken out and presented to Pomare I. The arii
did not eat the eye - as was sometimes thought - but gave it back to the
priest. Finally the corpse was buried at the foot of the 'altar', together with
some red feathers. In long prayers the help of Oro against the enemy was
asked, and finally a dog was killed and offered to the god. The next day the
ceremonies continued. There were prayers, a number of red feathers were
presented to the god (still hidden in his 'ark'), and finally the maro was taken
out and spread out at full length on the ground before the priests:
It was about five yards long and fifteen inches broad, and composed
of red and yellow feathers but mostly of the latter; the one end was
bordered with eight pieces, each about the size and shape of (a) horse
shoe, with their edges fringed with black pigeon feathers; the other
end was forked and the ends not of the same length. (Cook 1967:203)
Cook adds that the barkcloth was sewn to the 'upper end of the English
Pendant, Captain Wallis displayed, and left flying a shore the first time he
landed at Matavai'. It has become customary to call this maro the Wallis
286
maro. After long prayers the maro was placed upon the altar. Finally also
the other bundie was opened, but the British officers were not allowed to
examine the object more closely. At the end of the ceremony the sacred
objects were wrapped in their bundies again. To transport the bundies there
were some canoes, 'on the fore part of each was what they called a Morai
made or covered with palm leaves like some of their akers' (Cook 1967:204).
Such mobile marae are reported also by Bligh (1792:114, 119), who presents
a fairly similar description of a human sacrifice in which Pomare II figured
as arii, and Ha'amanemane (who originally came from Raiatea) as high
priest (1792:123). The maro used at this occasion was also the Wallis maro
(Bligh 1792:125).
Here is the point at which to return to the question of the maro tea, the
yellow feather girdle. This girdle was connected with the Oro cult of
Porapora. According to Arii Taimai (1964:6 ff., 24) the ariioïPapara in Tahiti
were also entitled to wear the maro tea, while the right to wear the maro
ura was originally reserved for the arii of Vaiari and Punaauia. It is not clear
how the yellow girdle became the prerogative of the Paparan rulers, since
Arii Taimai's mythical exphcation is not very helpful in finding the historical
reality behind the maro tea (1964:12). She in fact states only that this girdle
was given - or promised - by a kind of demi god to the child he had fathered
on a Vaiari princess (1964:11). This child left Vaiari and buildhis own marae
in what later became known as Papara, in which he was entitled to wear his
maro tea. This implied - even to Arii Taimai - that the yellow girdle was
slightly less important than the red one, which stayed in the older - thus
higher - Vaiari (cf. Oliver 1974:763). Oliver (1974:679) points to the
possibility that the demi god might have been an inhabitant from Porapora
from whence, as mentioned above, the yellow girdle originated (cf. also
Oliver 1974:1214). I do not know the whereabouts of the Vaiari red girdle.
In more historical times the arii of Papara also became entitled to wear
a maro ura. Oliver (1974:1214; 1988:128, 159) relates how, in about 1760,
a son of the Opoan kin-Title holder married a Paparan wife and this
connection brought the Paparan leaders the right to wear a red feather
girdle. An image of Oro also came to Papara via this connection. The
Dossession of an 'originaP (i.e., Raiatean) Oro image andtwo exalted feather
îrdles made the son of Arno and Purea, in whom all these rights came
:ogether, the highest title-holder of Tahiti. To demonstrate his status his
"nother, Purea, set out to build the largest marae of Tahiti: the marae
Vlahaiatea, which was described at length by Joseph Banks in 1769, who
itated that 'lts size and workmanship almost exceeds beleif...' (Banks 1962
:303). Cook prizes the buildings as 'a wonderful peice of Indian Architecure and far exceeds everything of its kind upon the whole Island...'
1968:112). Yet the temple never fulfilled its function, for shortly before the
irrival of the British, the combined forces of Para-Arue and Taiarapu had
nvaded Papara. The Paparans were defeated and had to flee. The Pareixueans 'made off with the Papara Image (of Oro) and the Wallis Maro'
Oliver 1988:160). Their leader Tutaha, for some reason or other, moved the
acred objects to Atehuru, to the Paea temple. In 1790 these objects were,
287
with the help of the mutineers of the Bounty, captured by the Pare-Arue
rulers (Morrison 1966:81-83). From that moment on, the arii of Pare-Arue
were the only rulers who could boast the possession of the feather girdles
and an Oro image. From then on only they could preside over human
sacrifices. Oliver (1988:117) suggests that the high priest Ha'amanemane
also had such a right; he, however, was not entitled to 'receive' the human
sacrifice (to simulate the eating of the eye).
In describing the incidents connected with the Oro image and the Wallis
maro, we have lost sight of the yellow feather girdle. After the fall of Papara
this girdle is no longer mentioned in the sources. Thus there is a possibility
that the girdle was lost during the war. Another possibility is that the maro
tea - being apparently of lesser value than the red ones - was used in the
construction of the Wallis maro. The fact that this girdle was adorned with
a great number of yellow feathers is suggestive of this view (Cook 1967:202;
Bligh 1792:125). It is even possible that the Wallis maro was made of both
the Paparan girdles, for there is no indication that yet another girdle was
captured in Papara (i.e., the one that came to Papara in 1760). If we proceed
from this hypothesis the disappearance of all the Paparan feather girdles
after its defeat is explained. It also explains why, from that moment on, only
the ara of Pare-Arue possessed maros (their own, and the Wallis girdle) and
the Oro image. Every ruler who wanted Oro's support in war, needed from
then on the support of the Pomares.
The arii of Pare-Arue possessed, as stated above, several maros, namely
the girdle they captured in Atehuru (which was conquered from Papara),
and the girdle they already possessed. This maro ura had come into their
possession via the marriage of the eldest daughter of Tamatoa III of Raiatea,
to Teu (or Hapai) of Pare-Arue. This daughter, Tetupaia, was the elder sister
of Ha'amanemane, whom we have already met in this article. With this girdle
their son Pomare I (who was known to Cook as Tu, and to Bligh during his
first visit as Tina) had been invested, and later on the son of Pomare I and
Itia, Tu (later called Pomare II) (Bligh 1988:47). This investitute had been
witnessed by Bounty mutineer Morrison. He informs us that the maro 'est
faite d'un filet tres fin sur lequel on a fixé des plumes rouges et jaunes de
facon a ne plus voir Ie filet' (Morrison 1966:91). The ceremony took place
in the new marae at Pare, constructed, as Morrison states 'pour recevoir Ie
marae mobile etc. que nous avions rapportés d'Atahuru et dans lequel ces
objects étaient maintenant conservés' (ibid: 91). This formulation of Morrison's suggests that the maro used during the investiture was not the Papara
one. The investiture of Pomare II was accompanied by three human
sacrifices, whose eyes were offered to the incumbent (Morrison 1966:92).
In summary, it can be stated with some safety that there have been at least
two maros at Tahiti: the Wallis maro, and the Pare-Arue maro. There is no
indication that there ever really existed a maro ura in Vaiari, while the view
can be defended that both the Paparan maros (the yellow one and the red
one of 1760) were combined into the Wallis girdle. Concerning the number
of real Raiatean Oro images, we only know with some certainty that such
288
an image was brought to Papara in 1760, the image that finally came into the
possession of the rulers of Pare-Arue.
Oro and Arioi
Most of OUT sources contain references to the Arioi society, a group of
people dedicated to the worship of Oro. As their rituals often had an
'indecent' character, and as the members of the society were obliged to
remain childless (i.e., they killed their offspring at birth), the missionaries
especially, picture the Arioi in a most negative way. 'Many of the regulations
of this body, and the practices to which they were addicted, cannot be made
public, without violence to every feeling of propriety', thus the missionary
Ellis (1831 1:229-230). Elsewhere he states that 'on public occasions, their
appearance was, in some respects, such as it is not proper to describe'
(ibid.:235). He thus restricts his description of the Arioi society (1831 1:229247) to the more innocent aspects, the remaining activities being 'all
monstrous, all prodigious things', 'abominable, unutterable', 'the worst
pollutions of which it was possible for man to be guilty', and so on (all
qualifications on p. 243). Obviously this reticence whets one's appetite for
further investigation! Fortunately there were reporters with fewer scruples
- such as the Belgian merchant Moerenhout (1837) to whose statements I
will return presently. Apart from the missionaries (those of the Duff also had
their say on the Arioi: Wilson 1799:59 ff-, 174, 194), other visitors also make
harsh judgements. Joseph Banks, for example, (1962 1:351) speaks of
customs 'devilish, inhuman, and contrary to the first principles of human
nature', and James Cook, after having mentioned 'a very indecent dance',
and 'singing most indecent songs and using most indecent actions' states
that the Arioi have customs 'inhuman and contrary to the first principles of
human nature' (1968:127, 128). On the other hand, Georg Forster, who
accompanied Cook on his second voyage,. states only that 'Die Errioys
geniessen mancherley Vorrechte, und werden in allen Societats-Inseln sehr
hoch geachtet. Das sonderbarste ist, dass sie selbst ihre grosse Ehre darinn
setzen, keine Kinder zu haben' (1983:615). After having mentioned that the
Arioi consume enormous quantities of food and goods, and thus are a
burden to the population (cf. Claessen 1991:302), he observes that most
probably 'die Nation, auf einer andern Seite, wichtige Vorteile davon hatte'
The French anthropologist Babadzan (1993) devotes a good deal of
attention to the role of the Arioi society. He bases his analysis to a large
extent on the writings of Moerenhout (1837), Ellis (1831), and De Bovis
(1980), who all provide data on the society. Yet it should be borne in mind
that these visitors came relatively late to Tahiti, and had to rely on
information produced by Tahitians converted to Christianity (cf. Moerenhout 1837 I:viii; De Bovis: iii). It is not clear to what extent their views have
been distorted because of their conversion.
289
The principal activity of the Arioi society was the worship of the god Oro.
This was done by travelling from place to place and performing ceremonies
and entertainment in exchange for lavish hospitality. Their dances and
farces had heavily erotic overtones, and during the feasts they were also
'sampling the sexual wares of their hostesses and hosts' - to use Oliver's
succinct phrase (1988:103; cf. Oliver 1974:925). The emphasis on sexuality
in many of their performances, and the promiscuity that was prevalent
among the Arioi themselves, gave several scholars the idea that theirs was
a kind of fertility cult (Kooijman 1964:123 expressed this view already quite
early). It is especially this aspect that is emphasized by Babadzan. The
songs, the sexual activities, the farces, in short the whole performance of the
Arioi 'n'avaient sans doute pas seulement pour propos d'évoquerla. création,
mais bien de la mettre en acte' (Babadzan 1993:269). Their relation to
fertility comes especially to the fore in the seasonal activities of the society:
in the period of abundance the members travelled around and gave their
performances. When the season of scarcity arrived, the Arioi withdraw from
the public, 'pour pleurer 1'absence et la mort de leur dieu' (Moerenhout 1837
1:503; Babadzan 1993:80).
As mentioned above, the investiture of an arii was connected narrowly
with the presence of the Oro image, and the donning of a maro. In this ritual
also the Arioi society played an important role. James Morrison, who
witnessed such a ceremony in 1791, mentions Oro, the maro, and the human
sacrifices, but says nothing on the role of the Arioi in the ceremony; neither
does he mention the two sharks - supposed to swim around the arii during
the purification ritual (Moerenhout 11:26; Ellis 1831 111:111; Henry 1968:20c1;
cf. Babadzan 1993:183). Moerenhout, and Ellis, who did not themselves
observe an inauguration ritual, both mention the Arioi society, but only
Moerenhout dares to present details of their activities. He refers to dances:
oü plussieurs hommes et femmes entièrement nus, entouraient Ie roi,
et s'efforcaient de Ie toucher des différentes parties de leur corps, au
point qu'il avait peine a se préserver de leur urine et de leurs
excrémens, dont ils cherchaient a Ie couvrir. (Moerenhout 1837 11:27)
The most important moment in the inauguration of the arii rahi is his
investiture with the maro, which - according to Babadzan (1993:187) renders the incumbent for some moments 'divine'. The homage of the two
(semi-divine) sharks, and the exclamations by the assemblee! population
testify to this. The human sacrifices and the offering of an eye to the new
arii conïnm the new royal status. Babadzan (1993:188 ff.) then refers to the
necessity of a ritual to make the 'divine' arii human again. After the Oro
image is placed in its bundie, and the maro has been wrapped again, the
activities by the Arioi mentioned above make the arii human again.
Although the Arioi for these and other services are rewarded with red
feathers, there is no indication that the leaders of the society ever wore a
maro.
1
The description given by Henry (1968:195-204) is not unambiguous, for in it, data from
different islands have been put together.
290
Summary and Conclusions
In this paper I have tried to place the Tahitian god Oro against his
background: the 'Oro-maro-Arioi connection'. Oro was an 'immigrant' from
Raiatea, and with him came the feather girdles, the Raiatean maro ura and
the Poraporan maro tea. There are indications that the yellow girdle
belonged to the leaders of Papara, who via a fortunate marriage also gained
a red girdle and the Oro image. The Pare-Arue rulers had the right to wear
a red girdle. Papara's haughtiness was punished heavily; after a military
defeat its 'Wallis maro' (possibly containing the red as well as the yellow
girdle) and the Oro image were captured and placed in a marae at Atehuru
- from where they were stolen by the Bounty mutineers on behalf of the arii
of Pare-Arue, who from that moment on owned all pivotal pieces. As Oro
was the god of war and fertility there were many reasons for Tahitian rulers
to invoke his support. In order to obtain this, human sacrifices had to be
made - and only an arii who possessed a maro ura was entitled to preside
over such a sacrifice. Moreover, this could be done only when the Oro image
was also present. In this political game an important role was played by
members of the Arioi society, who (apart from their reputation as warriors)
were famous (or notorious) because of their fertility rituals. They indulged
in ritual sexual activities, and had the obligation to remain childless. Tough
this was often mentioned in the sources, the background of their customs
remained quite obscure. As Oro worshippers they were welcomed by the
arii, while the population had to carry the burden of their maintenance. In
all important religious and royal rituals the Arioi society played a role. They
were not connected directly with the feather girdles, however.
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Morrison, James
1966
Journal de fames Morrison, second maïtre a bord de la 'Bounty'. (First
edition 1793) Publications de la Société des Océanistes, no. 16. Paris:
Musée de 1'Homme
Oliver, Douglas
1974
Ancient Tahitian society. 3 vols. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.
1988
Return to Tahiti. Bligh's second breadfruit voyage. Honolulu: University of
Hawaii Press.
Rose, Roger G.
1978
Symbols of sovereignty, feather girdles of Tahiti and Hawai'i. Pacific
Anthropological Records, no. 28. Honolulu: Hawaii.
292
Verslag
1958
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde. Verslag van de directeur over 1956.
's-Gravenhage: Staatsdrukkerij- en Uitgeversbedrijf.
Wilson, James
1799
A missionary voyage to the Southern Pacific Ocean, performed in theyears
1796, 1797, 1798, in the ship Duf f. London: Chapman.
293
15
THE BITER BIT
THE NUNGGUBUYU MYTH OF CROW
AND TWO OLD WOMEN
Lex van der Leeden
Introduction
Simon Kooijman, my former and highly respected senior colleague at the
National Museum of Ethnology in Leiden, has always insisted on the
importance of interpreting material culture in its wider social and cultural
context. A keen interest in mythology appears in this connection from many
of his publications. I do not hesitate, therefore, to honour Simon Kooijman
here by presenting a myth of the Nunggubuyu Aborigines who live in the
south-eastern part of Arnhem Land, Northern Territory, Australia (see fig.
91A). I shall try to explain its functions and symbolism in Nunggubuyu
society and culture.
It concerns the myth about the revenge of Crow after having fallen in a
trap set by two Old Women. I recorded the myth during anthropological
field research in the Nunggubuyu area, in 1964-1965.1
The story is the property of a sub-clan considered as the spiritual owner
of the territories of Guluruid and Mabanadjaruid (see fig. 91B). The
Guluruid-Mabanadjaruid sub-clan is part of the larger Murumurungun clan.
I should mention that the Nunggubuyu have a social system very similar to
that of the Mara to the south of Roper River, the south-eastern border of
Arnhem Land. Their society is based on patrilineal clans, divided between
four sub-moieties and two moieties, Mandajung and Mandaridja. Each of
these moieties has two sub-moieties. Like the sub-moieties of the Mara
moiety which corresponds with the Nunggubuyu moiety of Mandajung,
those of the latter are called Murungun (of the northern Mandajung clans)
and Mambali (of the southern Mandajung clans), respectively. Mandaridja,
1
Fieldwork was carried out with a grant for travel and research expenses from the
Netherlands Foundation for the Advancement of Pure Research (ZWO). In Australia, it was
sponsored by the Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies (AIAS, nowadays AIATSIS). I am
most thankful to the AIAS for supplying me with the field equipment necessary for the recording
of texts and songs. I am also grateful to the Church Missionary Station for all living and working
facilities they offered me during my stay at their Numbulwar mission station.
294
Figure 91 A. Sketch map A. Nunggubuyu territories. (Computer drawing by Paul Haenen)
THE BITER BIT
295
Figure 91 B. Sketch map
B, The plain of
Mabanadjaruid.
(Computer drawing by
Paul Haenen)
totx has a northern and a southern sub-moiety, but these are unnamed. Wc
may call these after their ritual traditions Ru:l A and Ru:l B, respectively.
At first sight, the myth offers a profane tragicomedy. meant to entertain
and amuse non-ceremonial gatherings of men, women and children. And it
does so indeed. It is in many ways what Australian Aborigines call a 'funny
story'. My field recording of the myth is at places almost unintclligible
because of the laughter of the listeners. However, interested Nunggubuyu
listeners realize and appreciate the fact that the story is has two levels of
meaning. Underneath its humour, on a deeper ideological Ie vel. the
mythical events described in the Crow myth hide another, in this case
esoteric, mythological theme. I shall explain this further in my interpretation
of the myth below.
The Nunggubuyu text of the story was told by Madi from Windangain,
the totemic or "dreaming" centre of another Mururnurungun sub-clan. It was
told on the place where the mythical events are said to have taken place,
i.e. on the great coastal plain of Mabanadjaruid to the north of the
Xumbulwar River (see fig 91B). The plain borders the sea on the eastern
side, separated from it by a narrow strip of scrubs and bushes of coastal
trees. High sand dunes mark the western border between the plain and
interior territories. Guluruid Creek separates it to the north from another
territory of the same sub-clan. We, that i.s to say Madi, his brother-in-law
Mindyugag from Angurgi-Umaidjbar, Madi's son's son Magun, and I myself,
visited and camped on the plain during the dry monsoon, from l6th until
18th June 1964. A bone-chilling fog covered the whole area during morning
hours, but disappeared after a few hours of sunshine, gradually making
visible ever more sites and locations of totemic interest, and also awakening
296
the many crows which inhabit the plain. The closing scène (11) of Madi's
story, told on Wednesday 17th just after our visit to all sites relevant to the
myth, offers an excellent impression of these natural conditions on the plain
during the Dry.
Returning to the characters of the myth, I should add that the myth also
involves two other characters beside Crow and the Old Women, be it in
passive roles, as baits (in imitated forms) to catch, or take revenge on, a rival.
These are Bandicoot and an amadamgga fish. Bandicoot, whose burrow is
imitated by the Old Women in an effort to play a trick on Crow, should be
introduced still further. Both the story and the pen drawing of a bandicoot
burrow, which Magun made during the analysis of the text (fig. 92), testify
Figure 92. The burrow
of a bandicoot. (Pen
drawing by Magun in
my field notebook.
Notes added in my
handwriting)
THE BITER BIT
297
to excellent observation of actual bandicoot habits. It concerns the burrow
of a subspecies of bandicoots called (ma)barngurrag in Nunggubuyu, or
'bilbies' in English. Ellis Troughton informs us that:
Bilbies are the only bandicoots excavating actual burrows for occupation during most of the daytime, and their powerful broad-nailed
forearms make them expert tunnellers. The burrow is easily identified
by the characteristic tracks and tail-mark, as well as the unusual
construction of the burrow which descends in a fairly steep and
widening spiral for about five or more feet. Unlike many other kinds
of burrows, it has no exit hole. A striking feature, as with the burrows
of most animals of the Centre, is that although much soil (a
barrow-load or more) must be displaced during excavation, the
entrance mounds rarely exceed a bucketful. It was noted by Shortridge that the tail, as in some rat-kangaroos, has a peculiar downward
curl though not having any prehensile power. In association with
the horny spur at the tip, the feature suggests that the tail has some
special use while burrowing, or in arranging the nesting materials.
(Troughton 1967:70)
However, ray informants translated (ma)barngurrag consistently as
'bandicoot' in English. I shall in this essay follow their custom.
The myth
The story was recorded in the Nunggubuyu language and afterwards
analyzed with Mindyugag and Magun, my two language informants. A first
draft of the myth, including the original text in Nunggubuyu, was prepared
in 1970.2 It has never been published, but it was sent to the Australian
Institute of Aboriginal Studies.
Madi from Windangain was a great story-teller. The following free
translation of the text, which nevertheless follows the original Nunggubuyu
text as closely as possible, cannot possibly do justice to his talent and the
literary qualities of his story. I can only point to the elegant symmetry of the
question-and-answer dialogues in scènes 4 and 9. Further, the closing scène
11, in which Crow expresses both his conquering mood and his attachment
to the natural scène of Mabanadjaruid, was actually not told, but it was sung,
and accompanied by Madi's rhythmic piercing of the ground with a stick, in
demonstration of the way in which Crow had stabbed the Old Women
through their legs with his spear.
The following translation contains notes between square brackets either
to smooth away abrupt passages between successive events in the English
2
I owe very much to Dr. A. P. Borsboom, then still a student at the Institute of Cultural and
Social Anthropology, Nijmegen University, for his invaluable assistance during the preparation
of the 1970 draft.
298
translation or to explain
implicit but untold implications of the original
Nunggubuyu text.3
1.
Today, let me teil the story of that place [Ramalgaruid, just west of the
sand dunes, and just south of Guluruid River], where Crow kicked [a
bandicoot burrow] with his feet.
Well, [departing frora Umilid, just south of Guluruid Creek] two Old
Women went that way [to Aniribura], where they ate lardu shellfish and
slept. From there, they continued their long footwalk [until they finally
reached Ramalgaruid],
3.
[Now planning to trick Crow] they said to each other: 'Let us make [the
burrow of] a bandicoot. Let us catch Crow.' And so they made a bandicoot
burrow by pulling marda grass and imitating bandicoot tracks, and roads
which bandicoots make to enter and leave their burrows. They made it look
exactly like a real bandicoot burrow (see fig. 92). [That finished,] they went
back to sleep at Mabanadjaruid.
4.
They returned the following morning to see the burrow again, and they
called out for Crow [thus initiating the following dialogue with him]:
'Barngurrag Barngurrag Barngurrag.4 Come and catch it for us', they
called out.
'What might it be? Might it be a maburr string?', Crow asked.
'Barngurrag Barngurrag', the Old Women replied, 'catch it for us'.
'Might it be a digging stick?'
'Barngurrag Barngurrag. Catch it for us', the Old Women replied.
'What is it this time? Might it be a Ihabarau basket?'
'Barngurrag Barngurrag. Catch it for us', the Old Women said.
'What is it? Might it be Ihiwa paper bark?'.
'Barngurrag Barngurrag1, the two of them replied.
'Might it be a maburr string?'
'Barngurrag Barngurrag. Catch it for us', the two of them said.
'Might it be a goanna?'5
3
Nunggubuyu names and other words appear mainly in phonetic transcription based on the
AIAS spelling conventions of December 1974. This implies amongst others the use of [r] for a
retoflex vibrant, [rn] for a retoflex nasal, [rl] for a reflex lateral, [rr] for a Iamino-dental trill or
flap, and [lh] for a Iamino-dental lateral. Palatalized [dj] and [nj] are in final word position
transcribed as [d] and [n], respectively. Phonemic transcription is applied to the stops. In
Nunggubuyu, no phonemic distinction exists between [p] and [bl or between [k] and [gl. It
suffices to represent them by the voiced series of stop symbols.
4
Bandicoot is throughout this dialogue referred to by its Nunggubuyu name Barngurrag.
5
An Australian variety of Iguanna.
THE BITER BIT
299
'Might it be sugar bag?'^
'Might it be Barngurrag?'
'Yes, Barngurrag. Yes, yes, yes indeed.'
5.
Crow now took his two-pointed spear, and ran and ran. When he
stopped, he asked: 'Where, where is it?' 'Over here, over here, in this little
hump' [the Old Women replied], Crow put his spear on his spear thrower,
ready to shoot. (But the Old Women, who had also made a hole in the
burrow) now cried out: 'No, no, no, put your foot in the burrow. Put your
foot on one side of the burrow.' Crow now put one foot forward, [but the
Old Women interrupted this by crying out:] 'No, no, no, the bandicoot might
escape, jump with both feet together'. And then Crow jumped with both feet
in the burrow. Bbbb, rrrrt, off he went into the burrow. 'He went down fast,
didn't he!', the Old Women said, going over to the edge of the burrow and
observing Crow's disappearance in it. 'What shall we do?' [Considering what
to do next,] they broke off a hooked branch from a tree, and turned it around
in Crow's head feathers. Finally, they pulled him up by means of the hooked
branch, and laid him down beside the burrow. Little red ants now started
to clean with their snouts the dirt from his body and feathers. They cleaned
the dirt from him. Crow stood up as soon as the ants had finished their job
(and went back to Mabanadjaruid].
6.
[In the meantime,] the Old Women, too, had returned to Mabanadjaruid,
where they went to sleep. Afterwards, they started making plans again: 'Let
us go to our fishing place [at Amawirngiluid, in the sea near Guluruid River,
but on this side of it] and look for fish'. 'I am going down to that place [to
sec my own fishing place]', Crow said. So the Old Women asked him to look
first at their fishing place for them. And Crow did so.
7.
When he was out of sight, daid, a pandanus tree, cut by Crow, feil on the
ground. [He started to carve an imitation amadarngga fish out of the wood.]
He carved the tail fin first, then successively the breast fin, the lower back
fin, the upper back fin, the fin bones, the teeth, the head, the gills, the eyes,
and finally the nose of the fish. Upon finishing it, he took the wooden fish
and dropped it in the Old Women's fishing place. He then caught all living
fish [leaving the fishing place empty except for the wooden fish] and brought
it right up to this place [where we were now camping], The Old Women, who
were sitting there [and saw him with all that fish], cried out: 'Jaka, wait a
second! What about the two of us? Have you seen our fishing place?' 'No',
Crow answered, 'I have neither seen nor touched it'. The Old Women now
decided to see and inspect their fishing place themselves. And off they went,
arrarrarrarrarrarrarrarrarra, with fast sounding footsteps.
6
Aboriginal English for 'wild honey'.
300
8.
Then, after having reached and inspected their fishing place, they cried
out [thinking they had seen a real fish]: 'A big black fish! Wal, what shall we
do? It might escape from us. Let us call out for Crow. Let him catch it for us.'
And so they did.
9.
[In the meantimej Crow sat high on the Aiwaduid dune of Mabanadjaruid, from where he watched the Old Women. The latter, turning around to
look at [although at first not being able to see] him, called out: 'Gurgin
Gurgin.1 Catch it for us.' But Crow did not listen. [The Old Women tried
again:] 'Gurgin Gurgin. Catch it for us.' Crow did not listen yet. Again:
'Gurgin Gurgin. Catch it for us. That fish over here.' But Crow kept to his
silly attitude [that is, kept on pretending not to understand the Old Women].
Again: 'Gurgin, Gurgin. Catch it for us.' [Crow finally responded, thereby
initiating the following dialogue with the Old Women:]
'Gurgin Gurgin. Catch it for us.'
'Might it be a Ihabarau basket?
'Might it be a maburr string?'
'Might it be a walwurr string?' Crow talked like that.
'Might it be Ihiwa paper bark?' Crow said, still pretending not to
understand.
'Might it be a fire?'
'Might it be an alaid lizard?'
'Gurgin Gurgin'. Catch it for us.
'Might it be a fire?'
'Might it be Gurgin?'
'Yes, yes, yes indeed.'
10.
Crow then took up his two-pointed spear, and he ran down the dunes
and over the plain while shaking his spear up and down. He ran and ran and
ran, and finally stopped on the beach. 'Here', the Old Women said, 'the fish
stands up over here. Catch it for us.' 'No, no', Crow answered, 'I might miss
if I [try to] spear it [in the ordinary way]. Arraka, [go and sit in the water and]
cross your legs over each other's legs. You [one Old Woman] over here, and
you [the other Old Woman] over there, so that you have the fish in the middle
between you. Then I am able to hit the fish properly. Yes, you sit here and
Gurgin is the totem (or dreaming) name of the amadarngga fish.
THE BITER BIT
301
you over there, with one another's knees closely put together'. Crow now
lifted his spear with his spear thrower [and aimed at the Old Women's legs],
ready to shoot, arraka, when one of the Old Women saw with half closed
eyes what he was doing. 'Ai, good heavens, are you trying to hit us? Are you
killing us? Don't do that, don't do that, don't do that!' [Covering his real
intentions, Crow answered:] 'The wind blew my spear aside. I am not trying
to hit you. It is really because of the wind. Now I might miss if the two of
you do not truly close your eyes.' But then, when the Old Women had truly
closed their eyes, karrap, [with this sound] Crow threw his spear through the
legs [right above the knees] of both Old Women. Karrap. [He crowed
loudly:] Wa.-g wa.-g wa.g wa.g wa.g wa-.g wa-.g. He had hit the Old Women
and pushed his spear down [through the Old Women's legs with such a force
thit stuck] in the sand. Again he crowed: Wa-.g wa.g wa.-g wa.-g wa.g wa.-g
wa.-g. The spear went right to its shaft opening into the sand. The Old
Women cried out: 'You scoundrel, why did you hit us?'
11.
[Crowing loudly, Crow now sang out his song of victory.-]
Wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g.
The fog lies down bef ore it drifts away. Warlmadhang fog.
Unurrumurru fog.
Oh. The fog lies down and quietens the sea.
Ah. The fog now rises and drifts away over Iwarwar, the plain with the
young Ihuin trees.
Oh. It drifts away to the sea, and disappears.
Oh. The sea is calm. There is no wind.
Warlmadhang fog. Unurrunurru fog.
Oh. They [people and animals] want to see my fog. It lays down before
drifting away.
Oh wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g.
From Ubumaye and Ngambarlbarlo.8
Oh. From Uragaruid9, the fog drifts away to the sea.
Ah. From Yangulgarainyu10, the fog drifts away to the see.
Ah. From Ngarringudjarain11, the fog drifts away to the sea.
Ah. From Wilinbilin, Inaramba, Ugarlamar, and Adama.12
Ah. the Gubandai fog drifts away. It disappears.
Wa-.g wa-.g wa-.g.
They [people and animals] keep on watching my fog.
8
Both countries, to the west of Mabanadjaruid, are totem (or dreaming) places of the
Murumurungun sub-clan of Guluruid and Mabanadjaruid. Ngambarlbarlo is a small lake (or
billabong).
9
A billabong, dreaming place of the same sub-clan.
10
A cape to the south of Rose River.
11
A territory to the south of Rose River.
.
302
Ah wa-.g wa.g wa.g.
Ih. From Burindyi12, Lumawirri12, and from Wilinbilin, the fog drifts away
to the sea.
Ih. From Arlama12, the fog drifts away to the sea.
Ah. Over Larmunduka12, the fog spreads out and disappears over the sea.
Wa:g wa-.g wa:g wa.-g.
An interpretation
On the individual leve], there is no doubt that the secular qualities of the
myth, especially when told, as in the case of Madi, by a good story-teller,
always attracts large audiences. People enjoy its humour, the ludricrous
behaviour and silliness at times displayed by both Crow and the Old
Women. and the elaborate ways in which both parties set up their traps.
During story-telling, small children imitate with great hilarity how Crow
kicked the bandicoot burrow, and how the Old Women sat with crossed
knees, nailed down to the ground by Crow's spear. Moreover, the myth often
induces people afterwards to sing the ungubarl or secular songs of Crow
and the Mabanadjaruid plain. This is also what happened after I had
recorded Madi's story on the plain. In anticipation, Magun had during our
morning visit to the Bandicoot site already cut a stringy bark tree to make
a Ihambarlbarlor 'dijeridoo', in Aboriginal English also called 'bamboo', for
the rhythmic accompaniment of the songs to be sung.
General implications of the myth, on the other hand, become apparent
when we consider its functions on the clan and moiety levels. On the clan
level, both Crow and the Old Women are the totems, or 'dreamings', as the
Nunggubuyu people say in English, of the Murumurungun sub-clan which
is the spiritual owner of the Mabanadjaruid plain and every site which
belongs to it.13 In spite of their mutual antagonism, both dreamings in fact
represent mythological tricksters whose wanderings and activities establish,
even bridge, the geographic opposition between an inland territory (in this
instance of Ramalgaruid, on the western side of the plain of Mabanadjaruid;
scènes 1-5) and the sea (in this instance the Old Women's fishing place at
Amarnwilgiluid, the eastern sea border of Mabanadjaruid; scènes 6-11).
The presence of trickster figures as such is far from exceptional in
Australian Aboriginal clan myths. As for the Nunggubuyu, I have described
the interplay between a mythological trickster, a mythical hero, and a
supreme being in a publication on their Thundering Gecko and Emu myth
12
All of these are names of sea shallows near the mouth of Guluruid Creek.
13
Crow occurs in many parts of Aboriginal Australia as an important totem symbol. For
instance, Crow symbolism is highly significant in the Maradjiri ritual complex of the Djinang
Aborigines of northern Arnhem Land (Borsboom 1978:57-60, 92, 109-113). As apparent from
Blows (1975), Crow is of central importance in the Aboriginal mythology of South-east
Australia.
THE BITER BIT
303
(Van der Leeden 1975). However, the Crow myth is unique in presenting the
unusual number of two tricksters. Both Crow and the Old Women represent
typical mythological tricksters (although Crow combines this with a hero
role). This has several implications which distinguish the Crow myth from
the Thundering Gecko and Emu myth. First of all, our present tricksters are
not shown in mutual interaction with other characters having what might be
called hero or supreme being features. It is as if these features are partly
embodied in the personages of both Crow and the Old Women, unless of
course we might catch a glimpse of the always vague features of a supreme
being in the passive roles played by Bandico^t and the amadarngga fish.
In the second place, the movements of Crow and the Old Women are
unidirectional, between one place and only one other place. Unlike the
Thundering Gecko and Emu myth, in which the hero and the trickster move
and act in different directions, applying different methods, the Crow myth
restricts the movements of Crow and the Old Women to one and the same
path. Both parties move first inland from Mabanadjaruid to Aniribura (where
they interact, and where Crow is trapped by the Old Women), and then in
reversed direction seaward from Mabanadjaruid to Amawirngiluid at sea
(where they interact again, but where Crow cheats the Old Women).
This uniformity in movement is further strengthened by their oral
exchanges and their tricking methods. The two dialogues are phrased in
almost identical ways. Despite differences between Crow's and the Old
Women's methods of setting up traps, these have one basic feature in
common. Both Crow and the Old Women do not use living creatures as baits
to catch one another as a prey, but both use imitations, either of the habits
of a living creature (in the case of the Old Women: imitating the burrow of
a bandicoot) or of the natural appearance of such a creature (in the case of
Crow, using a wooden imitation of the amadarngga fish). All of these
features distinguish the doublé trickster Crow myth from other Nunggubuyu
myths with only one trickster in interaction with a variety of other actor
types. They add up to the explicitly symmetrie structure of the myth.
As mentioned in the introduction, the Crow myth also hides a more
fundamental mytho-ritualistic theme. Or as my Nunggubuyu spokesmen
explained, the Crow myth lies 'on top of' another myth. This concerns
traditions on the (sub-)moiety level, in this case that of the sub-moieties of
the northern Nunggubuyu clans. I should explain that the Mandaridja
Ru:l A sub-moiety and the Mandajung Murungun sub-moiety are associated
with separate mythological traditions, shared by all clans belonging to these
sub-moieties, respectively. The Ru:l A tradition is traced back to an Old Man
who brought a number of secret and profane tokens during his journey from
Groote Eylandt (east of Arnhem Land) westward through the Urindi and
Irgari territories along the Waldar River, right up to Ridharngu country in the
source area of Waldar River (Van der Leeden 1975: 51, 56). The Murungun
Gunabibi tradition, to which the Crow myth will be seen to refer, forms a
local variant of the Gunabibi initiation cult of the Murngin in north-eastern
Arnhem Land, but it is also related with initiation cults in many other parts
304
of, and indeed also outside, Arnhem Land. It is considered to have been
brought by a large group of Murungun ancestors from Lulmara (a region
along the north coast of Blue Mud Bay) southward along Nunggubuyu
territories such as Windangain and Guluruid-Mabanadjaruid, and further
along Warndarang territories between Rose River and Roper River, and
across the Roper River right up to territories in south-central Arnhem Land
(ibid.:49, 50, 56). All along the way, they stopped at particular places to 'line
up', as the story has it, and sing about the food they consumed, every now
and then turning around in a nostalgie mood to look back at their home
country, Lulmara.
It is important to add some mythological details which underlie the
Gunabibi initiation cult. The Murngin version is based on the myth about the
Wawilak Sisters, who were swallowed by the snake Yurlunggur (or Julunggul in the Yirrkala version) while trespassing on the latter's country. The
women were afterwards regurgitated alive onto an ants' nest. Following
Julunggul's example, a young unmarried male snake started to swallow all
youths, but they remained dead when vomited up again. He was punished
for this and speared to death by the men. In memory of Julunggul, the men
made an image of him. Re-enacting these mythical events, Murngin initiation
ceremonies are held around a trench representing the womb of the elder
Wawilak sister. Images of Julunggul are placed on the edge of the trench.
The women are led to believe that their sons are being swallowed by the
snake. Afterwards, when they see them again, the lads are smeared with red
ochre symbolizing blood of the uterus of the Wawilak Sisters (Hiatt
1975b:l49-150).
The Nunggubuyu Murungun myth is more in line with the Mara version
of the Gunabibi myth. It is about a cannibalistic Old Woman. Her Mara name,
Mumuna, is also used by the Nunggubuyu. Mumuna cooked and ate men,
whom she afterwards regurgitated onto an ant-bed. She was punished and
killed for this by Eaglehawk (that is, in the Mara myth), who in her memory
'cut down a tree and made a bullroarer, which contained the old woman's
dying cry' (ibid.: 150-151). The Nunggubuyu Gunabibi initiation ceremonies
follow this theme. The ceremonies are held around a crescent-shaped trench
representing Mumuna's womb. When the novices are isolated, and the men
start swinging the bullroarers, the women believe that their sons are
swallowed by Mumuna. It is the men's secret, however, and the novices
soon learn this, that it is in reality not Mumuna, but a man-made object, an
imitation, that produces this sound.
We may now return to the Crow myth, for the plain of Mabanadjaruid
forms of old an important site of Gunabibi initiation ceremonies according
to the Murungun tradition. The Crow myth strongly reminds its listeners of
the mythical journey of the Murungun ancestors, and how they hunted
Mumuna and kept her away from the youths. It is no wonder that Madi
continued telling the Murungun story as soon as he had finished the Crow
story. Both stories fit in the same mythological pattern. Other mythical
events were added; events said to have coincided with the arrival of the
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305
Murungun ancestors at Mabanadjaruid. For example, the scène of a little girl,
Djuamima, who cried because she was hungry, and who was chased away
until she vanished in a mangrove where her eyes can still today be seen
shining. I was shown the remains of her footsteps, and also those of the man
Walokar and his wife. They had been busy pushing a boat into Guluruid
Creek, and were fishing at sea when they heard the little girl crying. Walokar
then chased the pursuers of the girl, hooked them up with a net, and threw
them into the sea. However, some people escaped through the meshes of
the net from this ordeal. It is they who brought the Murungun tradition
further southward.
It is only a small step further to assume that the treacherousness of the
two Old Women of the Crow myth strongly reminds Nunggubuyu mythologists of the one Old Woman, Mumuna, of their Murungun myth, especially
because of the important role of Mabanadjaruid as a traditional initiation
centre in the Nunggubuyu region. But what about Crow, if his actions have
any inner meaning at all besides his obvious doublé role as trickster and
hero? A similar question concerns Bandicoot and the amadarngga fish. If it
is true that myths contain no coincidences, then much more must be hidden
behind their passiveness in the Crow myth, or more precisely, behind the
fact that they appear in imitated forms.
The answers to these questions, I think, must be sought in the initiation
theme which underlies the Murungun myth. As mentioned before, this myth
is almost identical with the Mara Gunabibi myth, one of the transformations
of the Murngin myth about the Yurlunggur snake which according to Hiatt
(ibid.:l47) 'is merely a particular instance of a cultural phenomenon found
throughout Australia'. lts basic theme is the swallowing (or eating) of
people, especially boys, by a snake or an Old Woman. The boys are
afterwards regurgitated and revive. These mythical events are re-enacted
during Gunabibi initiation ceremonies. There are many variations on this
theme, but the general occurrence of its basic motif suggests 'a widespread
association in Australia between the myth motif of 'swallowing and regurgitation' and the induction of young men into secret religious cults'
(ibid.:154). On the assumption that the Crow myth, too, reflects the basic
implications of this general mytho-ritualistic theme, we may interpret Crow's
adventures as an analogy to the ordeal which novices undergo during their
initiation into the Gunabibi secret ritual. Crow falls in a hole as if swollen
by, and returning to the womb of, the Old Women (who represent Mumuna
of the Murungun myth). The myth makes it clear that the bandicoot burrow
is not real. It cannot be real, because the myth is in this regard ritualistic.
An imitation is necessary to hide the fact that it is actually Mumuna's womb
which is imitated, just as much as the trench of the Gunabibi initiation
ground is an imitation of her womb.
Crow is then hooked up by the Old Women and put onto an ant's nest.
This is highly symbolic of the mythical Gunabibi scène in which Mumuna
regurgitates and thus revives her former victims. This conclusion is particularly strengthened by the ant scène. It can be no coincidence that similar
306
events occur with quite analogous implications in two Gunabibi myths, i.e.
in the Mara myth (ibid.: 150), and, as mentioned before, also in the Murngin
myth, in which Julunggul regurgitates the Wawilak Sisters onto an ant's nest.
The Crow myth scènes of Crow cutting down a tree to make a wooden
amadarngga fish and spearing the Old Women through their legs while they
hold the wooden fish in between them, calls up details of two different but
interrelated myths. In the Mara myth, as we already saw, Eaglehawk
celebrates his revenge on Mumuna by cutting down a tree and making a
bullroarer, the sound of which represents the crying of the old woman. It
does not appear too far-fetched to assume that Crow's wooden fish
symbolizes a bullroarer. The Nunggubuyu, too, believe that the sound of the
bullroarer imitates Mumuna's crying. As mentioned before, Nunggubuyu
men, like their Mara fellow men, consider it as their secret that it is not
Mumuna but a man-made object, an imitation, that produces the sound.
Further, spearing through the legs is a motif which also occurs in a
structurally related Murinbata myth, in which the man-swallowing Old
Woman is revenged by a left-handed man who spears her through her legs,
and by a right-handed man who breaks her neck with a club (ibid.:151).
All of these details offer sufficient ground for the assumption that the
Crow myth, although a clan myth, also reflects the ideology which underlies
the Murungun myth and associated initiation ritual. The Crow myth is
double-sided. It is both secular and esoteric. In this respect, the Crow myth
is not unique. It shares this doublé function with many other Nunggubuyu
clan myths. And not with other Nunggubuyu myths alone. We are here
dealing with a characteristic feature of Australian Aboriginal mythology in
general. On the grounds of this synchronic blending of secular and esoteric
features I agree with Hiatt (1975a:2, 3) that the distinction which the Berndts
(1964; cited in Hiatt ibid.) have drawn between (sacred) myths and (secular)
oral literature, does not appear to be tenable, at least not as far as Australian
Aboriginal mythology is concerned.
References Cited
Berndt, C. H. and R. M. Berndt
1964
The world of the first Australians, an introduction to the traditional life of
the Australian Aborigines. Sydney: Ure Smith.
Blows, Mieke
1975
Eaglehawk and Crow, birds, myths and moieties in South-East Australia.
In: L. R. Hiatt (ed.) Australian Aboriginal mythology, essays in honour of
W. E. H. Stanner. Social Anthropology Series 9, Australian Aboriginal
Studies 50. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Pp. 24-45.
Borsboom, A. P.
1978
Maradjiri, a ritual complex in Arnhem Land, North Australia. (Ph.D.
thesis, Catholic University of Nijmegen)
THE BITER BIT
307
Hiatt, L. R.
1975a Introduction. In: L. R. Hiatt (ed.), Australian Aboriginal mythology, essays
in honour of W. E. H. Stanner. Social Anthropology Series 9, Australian
Aboriginal Studies 50. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies
Pp. 1-23.
1975b Swallowing and regurgitation in Australian myth and rite. In: L. R. Hiatt
(ed.), Australian Aboriginal mythology, essays in honour of W. E. H.
Stanner. Social Anthropology Series 9, Australian Aboriginal Studies 50.
Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Pp. 143-162.
Leeden, A. C. van der
1975
Thundering gecko and emu, mythological structuring of Nunggubuyu
patrimoieties. In: L. R. Hiatt (ed.), Australian Aboriginal mythology, essays
in honour of'W. E. H. Stanner. Social Anthropology Series 9, Australian
Aboriginal Studies 50. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies.
Pp. 46-101.
Troughton, E.
1967
Furred Animals of Australia. (First edition 1941) Sydney: Angus and
Robertson.
Van der Leeden see: Leeden, A. C. van der
308
16
THE INDUCTION RITUAL AND BODY
DECORATION OF RECENTLY INITIATED
YOUNG MEN IN THE MIMIKA REGION
G. A. Zegwaard
Introduction
In South-West Irian Jaya at the beginning of the twentieth century, a
series of scholarly expeditions and some military exploration produced a
great stream of ethnographic material which ultimately found its way to
ethnographical museums, particularly in The Netherlands and in Britain.
Since little was known about the function of these objects, they remained
curiosa for several decades.
It has been one of Simon Kooijman's scholarly achievements that,
with the patience of a medieval monk, he has produced analytical descriptions of the objects to be found in four museum collections in the
Netherlands, and three in Britain. This analytical description has been set
out in his book Art, art objects and ritual in theMimika culture (1984). This
publication is outstanding for its excellent photographic material and its
solid study of sources.
The publication of this book coincided happily with the beginning of
my retirement, providing me with the opportunity to devote my attention,
after a prolonged interval, to the (further) study of Mimika/Asmat culture.
Since then Kooijman's study of Mimika art has always lain close at hand on
my desk, together with the studies by Pouwer (1955); Van der Schoot (1969);
Drabbe (1937); and Coenen (1960).
Some time ago, while I was occupied with the nose-piercing ritual and
its associated induction feast for the young men just initiated, I read in
Kooijman (1984:129-146) an extensive description of penis shells or sheaths,
followed by an examination of their function. These penis covers play an
important part in the induction ritual. This gave me the idea for offering the
essay on the induction ritual, printed here, for inclusion in the volume being
presented to Simon Kooijman for his eightieth birthday.
Atuka
In November 1951 in the village of Atuka, I witnessed the first and second
THE INDUCTION RITU AL AND BODY DECORATION
309
stages of the induction ritual that, since time immemorial, had constituted
the final phase of the nose-piercing ceremony. At that time, nose piercing
had not been celebrated for twenty-five years, yet enthusiasm for the feast
had still not subsided, as one could see from the fact that Atuka people
spontaneously grasped the opportunity (arising accidentally) to organise
the feast. Twelve young men had just returned from the Vogelkop, in NorthWest Irian Jaya, where they had been working for the past year as contract
labourers for the N.N.G.P.M, (the Netherlands New Guinea Petroleum
Company). The youngsters were walking around in new, brightly coloured
clothing, and they had brought back splendid presents for their own families
and for those of their fiancées. There were quite a few marriages in the
offing. The mothers were proud of their sons, and the brides-to-be were full
of happy anticipation. The prevailing atmosphere reminded the villagers of
the feeling that had in former times predominated after the nose-piercing
ceremony, and this gave them the idea of organising an induction ritual.
Enthusiasm, and the festive atmosphere, loosened people's tongues.
Men's life cycle
For better understanding of the induction ritual, it is necessary to make
a few comments on the male life cycle, the age groups, and culminating
point of the initiation ritual. Judging from the names for the various age
groups, the life of Mimika men passed through five stages. Only the
transitions from the first stage (the boy) to the second (the adolescent), and
from the second to the third (the young man) were accompanied by
initiation rituals. This transition, accomplished through nose piercing, was
publicly proclaimed and validated by a ritual induction.
Small and growing boys, as a group, were called Aj-ru. 'Aj' means new,
little, beginning. Boys were thus 'little people with potential for growth'.
Adolescents were called mut-apoka, which means 'provided with testicles',
a name doubtless referring to the adolescent's physical development. After
undergoing the nose-piercing ritual, the group of adolescents received the
title of Ko-apoka. Interestingly, the Mimika Papuans have never been able
to provide foreigners with a satisfactory explanation for this name. Pouwer
writes of 'those who carry a penis cover' (1955:107). Later on in this essay
the meaning of the word ko will be discussed further. Middle-aged and old
men were called Ajper-apoka and Per-apoka respectively: i.e., those turning
grey, and those with completely grey hair.
The sagopalm leaves apron celebration
It would seem, from the descriptions of many observers (for example,
Keiese teachers) that the initiation of adolescents was a rather simple one.
The youths were festively dressed in aprons, in several layers, which hung
from the waist to the ground and which were then cut off at ankle-level. The
accompanying activities and songs suggest that these aprons, made from the
fibres of young sago-palm leaves (tawrf), signified pubic hair. Abundant
310
pubic hair was highly desirable for boys and girls alike. The youths were
described in song as young dogs (remarkable for their luxuriant hair).
The nose-piercing feast
The piercing of the nasal septum (and nostrils and earlobes) was once
a common phenomenon throughout Irian Jaya. Among most Papuan tribes,
nose piercing was done when the boys and girls were young, without public
celebrations; it was simply performed on a convenient day. The aim of the
usage was probably to establish the possibility of using the openings for the
placing of attributes or ornaments which, through their protracted contact
with their wearers, would transfer their distinguishing characteristics to
those wearers. Accordingly, the pierced body parts functioned as a kind of
power sockets, carrying current from the attributes, to a person.
It is especially worth noting that, for the Mimika Papuans, nose piercing
clearly possessed the character of an initiation ritual, and particularly of the
initiation ritual which turned adolescents into adult, fully equipped men.
The celebration had a set pattern; it was observed on a regular basis, and
with the active participation of the whole community, including the dead.
Looking back, one could find it a cause for regret that this ritual was
prohibited (on 'hygienic' grounds) after the advent of the Administration,
and the Catholic Mission. It was the foreign missionaries and the Moluccan
schoolteachers who had witnessed the celebration with their own eyes, who
protested most strongly against to the 'barbarous' and 'hazardous' custom.
The Moluccan teachers succeeded in working on the young people's
feelings to such an extent that they rebelled against the 'old guard' who
wanted at all costs to retain the celebration. As a consequence of this
prohibition in the 1930s, no systematic study of the nose-piercing celebration has ever been made, and we are left only with a knowledge — based on
hearsay - of the course of the celebration. We thus have only a comparatively vague idea of its meaning: it concerned the adolescents' initiation into
manhood.
Father (Monsignor) H. Tillemans, who witnessed the celebration in
several villages, told me about a case in the village of Umar in western
Mimika where Dorothea, the affianced of Josef Pati - son of the village
headman, and later on headman himself - was extremely worried because
she had been told that Josef, who refused to submit to nose piercing, would
never be able to give her the children she wanted so much. Tillemans gave
the following description of the culminating point of the nose piercing
ceremony, as told to (and recorded by) Boelaars (1953:8).
Shortly before the nose piercing was to begin, all the candidates ran in
terror into the forest. Their sisters' husbands pursued and overcame them,
subsequently coaxing them to the two-metre high platform of piled sago in
front of the nose piercing feast house. The brothers-in-law squatted with
their backs to the front wall of the initiation house, while the candidates lay
on their backs with their heads towards the older men, so that the latter
could grasp the youths' heads firmly between their knees. Before proceed-
311
ing to the actual nose piercing, they cut short the candidates' long sago
leaves aprons.
Meanwhile, a swarming crowd of people had assembled in front of the
initiation house, fighting among themselves for a place. The classificatory
'mothers', especially, worked themselves into a state of hysteria, and
climbed half-way up the platform of sago in order to be as close as possible
to their 'sons'. One of the brothers-in-law then took a thin peg made of hard
palm wood, which he had rendered razor-sharp, and thrust the peg with
great force through the muscus membrane of the front part of the nasal
septum. The first blood spurted out of the small (nose) artery, starting to
trickle along the platform to drip beneath it. The blood was licked up with
avidity by the 'mothers'. The brothers-in-law continued with their work of
gradually enlarging the opening. For this they used increasingly thicker and
longer plugs or pins, measuring 25 cm - 50 cm in length. The last plug was
one to two rnetres long, the length being determined by the numbers of
brothers-in-law (eight to ten men) who had to grasp the plug with both
hands. After the last plug had served its purpose and had been removed, the
brothers-in-law pushed a rolled tree leaf through the new opening, to
prevent the wound from closing again. In the meantime the 'mothers' had
become maddened by licking up the great quantity of blood streaming
down, and behaved like veritable Furies. In 1910 Father M. Neyens talked
of 'female devils' straight out of heil! (Personal communication from
Mgr. H. Tillemans).
This treatment was followed by the supreme moment. The candidates
had to summon up all their strength and courage in order to stand upright
and look the public in the eye. They were immediately taken, moaning with
pain, to their family houses, where they were nursed for several weeks;
there was swelling of the nose, high fever, difficulty in breathing and
swallowing, and generalised physical weakness resulting from the considerable loss of blood.
The induction ritual
Once recovered from the after effects of the nose piercing, the young
men were presented to the village community in a series of festive
ceremonies, as the new additions to the group of men who had left puberty
behind, who had mastered all the masculine skills with bow and spear, and
who were completely ready to be the fathers of children. In the vernacular
the ceremony was called Ukamé: 'hair-extensions house'. As was customary,
the whole celebration was indicated by the name of the first stage. In this
case, it was the first phase of the decoration ceremonial, i.e., the decoration
of hair with false extensions made from the fibres of sago leaves. The Mimika
Papuans often used the pars pro toto indication. In my view, there is a rising
line clearly visible in the composition of the ritual. For a general survey of
the events, I divide the ritual into three phases: the farewell to adolescence;
the final examination in masculine skills; and the display of virility.
In Atuka 1951, a separate shed was built for the occasion. This shed was
two metres high, and was closed on three sides with sago leaves (atap). Half
312
a metre was left open only in the upper part of the front wall. Not all of the
ceremony took place in this shed, since it was necessary at times to operate
in the open air. The building was constructed close to a river (a tributary),
since a great quantity of water was needed for the ritual. The floor was of
sand.
It was the members of the family/local group of the ko-erepimara, ko~
people, who occupied the foreground in the ritual, as master(s)-of-ceremonies. This group formed a guild which acted as the owners of the Ko secrets,
the 'masters' or speeialists of the Ko, and which were aeknowledged as such
by the other guilds. These Ko speeialists were the spiritual fathers of the koapoka, i.e., the young men who were 'provided with ko'. The first stage of
the ritual consisted of two parts which appeared to have little connection
with each other; they were a food-ceremony and a sauna. They did both take
place in the same shed, and were both performed in the morning hours.
1. The food ritual
The young men were fed as if they were children, first with the soft pits
(otd) of the pandanus (marokd), and then with small mussels and crabs
(omo-k-ukupu and pea-n-ukupu respectively). The brothers-in-law first bit
off pieces of the palm pits, mussels and crab meat, and pushed the
remainder into the young mens' mouths, saying ota anamakami - 'I am
giving you a pandanus pit to eat'. The male members of the family, standing
around the brothers-in-law, called Anama, Anama - 'Let him eat, Let him
eat'. The female family members and the rest of the public standing outside
the shed began to dance the 'm'dance: they twisted their hips (ni), raising
their right and left hands alternately from their hips to the back of the head,
and letting them fall again to the hips. Each upwards and downwards
movement was accompanied by the call 'aah-aah', finally interrupted
suddenly with a brief 'uuh'. The ceremony was repeated many times over.
The easily digested foodstuffs which constitued the first 'children's
menu', and the repeated use of diminutives (ukupu means 'small') lent a
childlike and intimate atmosphere to the scène. In the myths and rites, all
three kinds of food bore a special relationship to women. As boys and
adolescents the young men had been constrained by prescription to avoid
'soft' foods; these were believed to prevent the young males' development
into 'hard' (i.e., strong, tough) men. The constraint did not apply to adult
men. In my view, the ceremonial eating of soft foods showed that they no
longer belonged among the adolescents, but in their manner of eating were
identifying with that of the adult males. They were taking leave of their
childhood.
2. The sauna ritual
The organisers of the ritual, the ko people, egged on the villagers to
collect a great deal of easily combustible material: dry leaves and branches,
old coconut husks, and tree bark. The material collected was piled up in the
313
ceremonial shed, in readiness for the approaching ceremony. The young
men were painted from head to toe with white chalk, black ashes, and red
ochre. Their buttocks were decorated with big leaves. The family members,
both men and women, also adorned themselves, but the decoration was
markedly rudimentary; this was connected with the fact that the adornment
would suffer greatly in the course of the ritual. Meanwhile, a fire was being
lit in the shed.
The brothers-in-law brought the young men to the shed, where the heat
and smoke rapidly built up. The fathers and brothers, the masters-ofceremonies and the drummers/singers followed them after a short while.
The shed became continually more packed with people, the men standing
pressed shoulcler to shoulder. It became steadily hotter and closer. The
mothers and sisters sought places at the front of the hut, as close as possible
to their sons and brothers. They had brought long bamboo containers f uil
of water. When they saw the young men beginning to sweat heavily, they
emptied the bamboo containers of water onto their sons' and brothers'
shoulders, utilising the opening in the front wall. They refilled the containers, and gave the young men a second shower bath when the cooling
process had been succeeded by another period of sweating. This procedure
was repeated many times. With each shower bath, the brothers-in-law drank
the water running from the young men's shoulders, while the young men
drank, in their turn, the water from the shoulders of their brothers-in-law.
A sauna or steam bath of this sort was customary among the Mimika (and
Asmat) Papuans, as a kind of purification for ridding themselves of alien
impedimenta, influences and forces which they had experienced on long
journeys, or through visits from strangers. In the village of Suru (Asmat) the
men who had been on board a visiting ship were 'fumigated' in this way.
According to the people themselves, this was done in order to rid the body
of the strange smells to which those boarding the ship had been exposed.
For the contract labourers of Atuka who had been working for the oil
company in the Vogelkop, this sauna was a practically mandatory treatment.
Together with the preceding eating ceremony marking the end of childhood,
we can probably interpret the sauna ritual as a clearing-away of childish
characteristics such as playfulness and impudence, and as a banishing of all
the obstacles that could hinder the young men from coming to adulthood.
The second stage, consisting of four ceremonies, was eoncérned with the
teaching and demonstration of male skills: use of the bow and spear, the art
of fish-spearing, and the way in which a newly adult young man must
behave towards his mother, and women in general.
1. Use of bow and arrows
At this stage the guild of archers temporarily took over the guidance of
the group. They pushed a plank (kuparo) into the ground as a target: this
had been the side of an old canoe which had fallen to pieces. The oldest man
in the archers' guild let fly the first arrow. He was followed by his 'brothers'
and 'sons', first the sisters' sons (peraeko), and then his own sons, and those
314
PACIFIC MATERIAL CULTUKü
of his brothers (are-eté, meaning 'of his own blood'). After the archers it was
the turn of the young men's own family members, and finally the young men
themselves shot the last arrows into the plank.
2. Spear throwing
This ceremony followed the same order of procedure. Guidance of the
event lay with the guild of spear throwers.
3- The manner of asking for sago
When darkness had fallen and it was time for the evening meal, all the
young men went to stand together. The leader of the ko guild (called Koaruru) stood at their side. Beating his drum, he sang the following formula:
Eneako, Potarokopa, amaa nemaro, maperapokokcr. 'Mother, Potarokopa,
give me sago, you with the red genitals'. (One of the young men's mother
was named Potarokopa. The other young men used other names.) Maperapoka is a swear word which the men sometimes use when they want to
exercise their masculine authority.
The drum was pressed into the hands of each young man in turn, and
each had to sing the formula. If any of them made a mistake out of
nervousness — e.g., if he handled the drum in the wrong way — this was
considered the excuse for great hilarity on the part of the audience.
This ceremony was probably intended to demonstrate that the status of
adult males brought change into the relationship between a son and his
mother (and other women). The young men who shouldered masculine
duties also gained masculine privileges: they were boss in their own homes!
4. Fish spearing
This ceremony was held the following morning, under the guidance of
the fishermen's (ereka-wê) guild. All the village men climbed into the
canoes; as usual, the young men were supervised by their brothers-in-law.
As the vessels departed seawards, all the participants threw generous
quantities of chalk in front of them, i.e., in the same direction. The brothersin-law had brought along fish spears and empty coconut shells. En route,
they drank water from the river mouth by scooping it up with their hands,
the young men following suit. A little further on, the brothers-in-law threw
the coconut shells into the sea and used them as imitation fish (tiri
marapiri). They skewered the 'fish' with a fish spear, the young men
following their example. This procedure was repeated a number of times
until they reached a sand bank, where they climbed out of the canoe before
returning to the village, once more throwing chalk in front of them.
The third stage of the induction ritual, not performed in Atuka in 1951,
used to take place (according to informants) in the same place, but on a
315
different day, and it constituted the finale, the apotheosis of the ceremonial.
All the ceremonies were connected with fitting-out the young men with
pieces of equipment, insignia and attributes that showed their physical
maturity, and especially their virility.
First the young men were painted all over with chalk, ochre and ash, after
which they were given wide straps to wear on their upper arms and calves.
Then their upper torsos were decorated with thin midriff bands, crossed
over. After this, it was the turn of the hair, nose and genitals.
1. Hair extensions, U Tawri
Thin strips of the young, golden-yellow fibres of the sago leaf, roughly
15 cm - 20 cm long, plaited into string, were attached to the ends of the
young men's hair, and draped over the back of the head and the neck, to
reach the shoulders. While fitting the hair extensions, the brothers-in-law
sang Ko-apoka paroro amaa-u amumukami: 'Splendid young man, I am
putting the ends of sago leaves on you.' Amaa is the vernacular for sago.
The basic meaning of the word f/is: end; upper part; protrusion; top; point.
A thin palm tree which always reaches up above the other trees is called uare (nibung). The word for a tusk is u-ki or u-ku. 'Head' is u-pao: enclosure
or container for the upper end. U-pao also signifies 'thumb' and 'big toe'. Uu
was the name for the crowned pigeon, a bird with a handsome head-crest.
In the Mimika Papuans' world view, the ends of things; things sticking
out or up; the tops of trees and plants, young leaves, shoots, buds; the heads
of people and animals; male genitals: hair and nails were considered to
contain a high concentration of life force, vital energy. Ends, tops, protrusions and so on, were identical with concentrated life force. The word U
therefore had a clear link with 'life force', and also meant 'name' or
'personality'.
In my view, in this ceremony the vital energy concentrated in the young
men's hair was revealed in the vigorous ends of young sago leaves. The hair
extensions did actually lend a certain glow to the young men's heads. This
radiance from the heads was associated in myth and song with the radiance
of the heavenly bodies; for example, during the splendid sun dance, held
the night before the nose piercing. In the Mimika language, the fitting of hair
extensions and the piercing of the nasal septa are expressed by the same
verb: o-k, or 'take care of the head'.
2. The slightly bent nose-attribute, Pané
The second outfitting ceremony was connected with the nose: the young
men's faces. In this, the opening in the nasal septum served as a kind of coat
hook or buttonhole, into which the attribute could be inserted, and held in
place. The Atuka people gave me three variants, all bearing the name pané.
The first variant consisted of two pieces of the hornbill's beak (the
hornbill is Ko-major Iro) tied together on the underside with rattan or string.
They were then glued fast with resin or wax. The second variant comprised
31 6
two equal segments of a seashell (upü), fastened together then glued on the
under side in the same way as in the first variant. The third variant was used
less often, although it was certainly observed by Wollaston in 1910-1912
(1912:111).This was a combination of two pigs' tusks, also used as a neck
ornament.
While the brothers-in-law were manoeuvring the pané through the
opening in the nasal septum (using the required amount of effort), the
singers performed the song ko-apoka paroro pané amumukamï. 'Very
virtuous young man, I am fitting you with the pané.' The meaning of the
word pané is partly clear to me: pa is the general term for something bent
or curved, for example the scales of a fish or reptile, the crooked aerial roots
or buttresses of some kinds of tree, a board made from the side of an old,
broken canoe. In the related Asmat language, the moon past the first quarter
is calledpirpané(ftir = the moon). Eis a general verb and has the sense of
'tying together'.
It can be no accident that all the variants of the panéoudined above have
a curved shape. In several places in the neighbouring region inhabited by
the Asmat people, two curved snouts from the rhinoceros beetle, or two bent
sterns of the cassowary's feathers, are pushed into the nose opening
(Konrad, Konrad and Schneebaum 1981:143, figs. a and b). The sickle form
also plays an important role in other adornments, for the neck and the
breast, for example, and for figures in woodcarving. The term for the nasal
septum is mirimu kamare. 'Mirimu' = nose, while 'kamare' is a general word
for protruding things, such as the leaf of the palm while it is still closed; the
penis; the spout of a coffee pot. In the Asmat language it is also the term for
the prow of a canoe, the jutting 'flag' of an ancestor image/spirit canoe. As
we saw earlier on, the ends of things, and things that jut out -particularly
protruding parts of the human body such as the penis and nose -were
believed to contain a high concentration of vital energy or life force, as in
the case of the palm leaf on the point of unfolding and revealing itself.
After the opening up of the Asmat region in the 1950s, the pané made of
shell segments, or from pigs' tusks, became known all over the world, while
the existence of the pané made from two pieces of a hornbill's beak is known
only from a few scanty references in travel accounts dating from the
beginning of the century. Wollaston observed, in 'Pygmies and Papuans'
(1912:111) the existence of 'a carved ornament of a piece of the bill of a
hornbill'. In view of the fact that this pané variant has never been recorded
as a nose ornament in other areas of the south coast, the variant appears to
be a typical element of Mimika and Asmat culture, and from hereon I shall
confine my attention to examination of this pané.
In the Mimika region, some clan groups maintained special relationships
with particular trees or animals; for example turtles, porpoises, flying-foxes,
and hornbills. These creatures were regarded as former human inhabitants
of the country, who had suffered a humiliating experience and, in response
to the shame, had decided to undergo a metamorphosis and metempsychosis into an animal of one kind or the other. They had taken with them their
ipu, the soul or complex of characteristics belonging to their previous
selves.
THE INDUCTION RITUAL AND BODY DECORATION
31 7
Throughout the coastal region between the Digul and the Etna Bay a
myth is related which tells how the hornbill came into existence. Each
village had its own version of this myth, and the Mimika versions differ from
those of the Asmat.
In the Mimika versions the gist of the story is that a group of boys
committed some mischief or other, thereby arousing the anger of two old
women. The boys fled from the village by hiding themselves inside a hollow
tree which was drifting down river to the sea, and from thence over the
'other side' (the horizon). The tree was eventually washed up on land and
the boys, who had since grown into young men, met a colony of unmarried
women who immediately and enthusiastically took the young men as
husbands. The following day there was a slight incident between the 'oldest
brother' — the young men's leader -and his new wife. The woman argued that
he was a stranger who betrayed the fact by his bodily odour. Furthermore,
he was arrogant.
The young man was so intensely humiliated that he decided to leave his
wife and to live henceforth as a hornbill, taking his 'younger brothers' with
him. The young man's name was Maramuku. 'Maramo' means 'chisel' and
'uku' means 'equal, the same as, together with'. The name thus meant 'the
man who always has a chisel with him' - a man who forms a unity with his
chisel, thus a very skilled woodcarver. The young man went about carrying
out his plan in the following way: he searched for a block of wood from the
wild clove tree (Ki-ikd) and chiselled out of it two wings, a tail, a big beak,
and other parts of a hornbill. Then he decorated these pieces of equipment
with big tree leaves, varying in colour from extremely dark to extremely light
green, from almost black to almost yellow. By this means the gear was given
colours adapted to those of the hornbill.
First he made a trial flight on his own, and when this was successful, he
next made many more suits of the same gear for his younger brothers. All
of this was done in secrecy. When the women saw their husbands flying
away, they begged the young men to return, but the men flew on. After a
long flight they alighted in a place where a great many hornbills are still to
be found, and which even today is still known as 'the hornbill place' (Irud).
This myth was not only related and sung; it was also dramatised in a
ritual, for example of the 'Bone-House ceremony'. The story explained and
emphasised the fact that the hornbill bears the traces of its former existence
as a human being, in both body and soul - i.e., in its nature and
characteristics, particularly the skill in the use of its chisel for giving shape
to previously shapeless material.
Showing a shield bearing the image of a hornbill, the villagers of Atuka
once pointed out to me all the bodily parts (Kaö) which had been transferred
from Maramaku to the hornbill: the head, eyes, the 'point' (the nose or bill),
the mouth/beak, the teeth, chin, the Adam's apple (sic), the chest, the upper
and lower stomach, the backside with its little anus surrounded by hairs, the
legs/feet. They called the bird Ko-maj, a name which refers to the long
feathers or lank, straight hair of the wings, and particularly of the tail, which
indicates the hornbill's former existence in the 'other' world, the world of
the foreigners. The long hair/feathers had a metallic green shine (ko), a
318
reminder of the colour of the tree leaves which Maramaku had used in
making the birds' wings and tails.
The hornbill showed not only the bodily traces (kao) of his previous
human existence, but also the nature (ipu) of Maramaku. He always carried
a chisel with him, in the form of a long, curved bill. Here we have to
remember that before the importation of iron tools, the Mimika Papuans
used a curved segment of a seashell (upu) as a combined chisel and plane.
The obvious similarity in shape between both attributes suggests their
'spiritual kinship', which can also be confirmed by the similarity in their
function. The Papuans noticed that the hornbill chipped and hammered at
the trunks of certain trees with its bill, in order to enlarge or reduce the size
of a nesting hole. With the same bill the bird spread plastering material and
tamped it down securely. It was able to move its bill in any direction, with
remarkable dexterity, and could even use it to catch the fleas with which its
body was infested.
In common with the cassowary, the hornbill has no stomach, only an
abdominal cavity. lts food - fruit and small animals - together with leaves
and small scraps of wood, is collected in this cavity. Before feeding the hen
bird, confined to the nesting hole, or (at a later stage) before providing the
nestlings with food, the male hornbill regurgitates the foodstuffs into the
end of its beak. He tosses away indigestible fruit pits and other detritus,
before reaching into the entrance of the nesting hole with the edible parts
of the food. In regurgitating food in this way, the bird shakes its head and
neck (Bartels 1956). The movements show a striking resemblance to the
movements of a penis in ejaculating sperm.
In another way the hornbill's nesting behaviour reminded the Mimika
Papuans of the sexual comportment of a man who, in the frequent practice
of coitus, 'fed' the unborn child in the womb with small quantities of sperm,
thus causing the foetus to grow until, after some time had elapsed, it came
out of its hiding place into the outside world. In other words, the hornbill
revealed the traces of its previous human life, by its actions in raising its
brood. Like his 'father' Maramuku, Hornbill always carried a chisel with him,
and was able to use the tooi with great skill. He could not only use it for
woodworking; he was also able to feed his 'unborn' offspring with it.
In this line of thinking, it is thus no matter for surprise that the hornbill
fulfilled a role as 'patron of boys and young men' in the initiation rituals,
such as during, or after the nose piercing ceremony and in the 'Bone-House
ceremony'. During the latter event, the boys were shut up for a period in the
Bone House, which represented a mythical womb. In this house they were
all subjected to trials to render them strong and hard. For example, they were
beset by dressed up ghosts (miipaata) who threatened them with spears;
they were also obliged to hang upside-down on the walls like bats, and
allow themselves to fall to the ground (takopaata). They also had to deck
themselves out as hornbills, For instance, in Atuka imitation hornbills
(komaf paata) fabricated from coconut fibre were tied onto the hair
extensions; the brothers-in-law then shot at them with small darts (tepere)
while the boys squatted on their haunches and mimed flying movements and
imitated the hornbill's trumpeting sound. Long pieces of rattan were
attached to the imitation hornbills; these were used to draw the boys outside
THE INDUCTION RITUAL AND BODY DECORATION
319
the house, so that their 'mothers' could sing their praises and embrace them.
This event was probably intended to portray a ritual birth, and to develop
in the boys the male nature of the hornbill, just as at an earlier stage, they
had been imbued with the characteristics of the flying-fox.
3. The anus shield, Wa-ko
According to my Atuka informants, in earlier times the young men were
provided not only with the pané in the nasal septum, but also with an anal
shield or wako (wa means 'anus' and ko is a coloured, shiny object). It
consisted of an oval, almost round segment of a white seashell, the upu
(cymbium), from 12 to 15 cm. in circumference. This was attached to the
loins with a cord, while singers chanted Koapoka paroro, wako amumukamï. 'Beautiful, fully trained young man, I am fitting you with an anus shield'.
I know nothing more of this anus shield from other sources. If the Atuka
information is correct, this anus shield would have been a duplicate of the
penis shell (still to be discussed), and together the two pieces would have
constituted equipment that enclosed the genitals from in front and behind.
One can take it for granted that, for the Mimika Papuans, this doublé genital
covering was associated with a shellfish, especially the mussel, whose soft
parts are closed in (protected?) between two shells.
4. Penis shell and penis cover/sheath, Kamare-po-ko
The fourth, and last, piece of equipment concerned the penis, and like
the nose panê, it was not uniform. There were two variants: the penis shell,
which duplicated the anal shield; and the penis cover, or sheath, made of
bamboo. The brothers-in-law fitted it while the singers chanted Koapoka
paroro, kamarepoko amumukamï. 'Fully equipped young man, I am fitting
you with a penis sheath/ penis cover'.
Penis covers attracted special attention from the participants in the
expeditions to the Mimika region at the beginning of the century. Consequently the museums can show many examples. Kooijman gave extensive
attention to the penis cover in his Mimika publication (1984). He cited
Wollaston (1912:111) who observed that the penis sheath was the commonest kind of penis covering, but that the penis shell was also frequently found.
It seems likely to me that the use of these two attributes was connected with
local circumstances; shells were found on the coast, while bamboo grew
inland. Both attributes differed markedly in material and form, yet they bore
the same name, which leads one to presume that both kinds fulfilled the
same function.
Explanation of the name
Before we move on to the function of the shell and bamboo covers, it is
necessary to establish which name the Mimika Papuans use for these
320
PACIFIC MATEKIAL CULTURE
attributes. This is all the more important because Pouwer created some
confusion by writing the name wrongly as kamar-apoka (1955:107). I shall
keep to Drabbe's vocabulary (1937) and my own notes, and write the name
as Kamare-po-ko.
As we have seen earlier, Kamare bears the general meaning of a
protrusion, and is used for the young, unopened palm leaf, the penis, the
spout of a coffee pot, and so on. In this context it means 'penis'. Po is also
a word with a generic meaning always present in a number of specific cases.
Po is used for the empty space in a groove or slot. Where we would talk of
a groove with a hole in it, the Papuans talk of the hole which occurs inside
a groove: for example, in the middle of a sago leaf, in tree-leaf sterns,
between the serrations on the head of a sago chopper, between a boy's filed
teeth, between the ridges of the wedge-shaped shoulder joints, elbow,
adam's apple, hips, knees, ankles, the small bones of the fingers and toes.
Combined with 'penis', the word means 'the penis groove ' or the crown of
the praeputium.
Ko bears the general meaning of shining, beaming, gleaming, glittering,
changing colour, differing in pigmentation - especially when these phenomena result from an opening up, an emergence. It is used for the great
heavenly bodies; for stars; for flowers which remain closet! during the
daytime but open at night; for clothing spread out on the ground to dry. Ko
frequently occurs as an adjunct nominal of generic verbs in verbal expressions; for example, for dying, because death is established by blue and red
patches on the skin of the lower body. Whenever asked, people explain this
word, ko, by pointing to the inside of their fingers, which is markedly less
pigmented than the outside. The very common ship's worm (Teredo, a kind
of mussel), is called ko because of the thin, gleaming layer of lime on its skin;
this leaves traces in the tunnels the worm makes in the wood it has attacked.
The word ko, used as a term for the penis shell and the penis cover/sheath,
thus draws attention to the shell's glistening layer of mother-of-pearl, and
the gleaming skin of the bamboo stem. Taking into account that the penis
and its cover are one, the proper translation of the word kamare-po-ko is
therefore, not just penis shell or sheath, but 'shell or sheath which gleams,
and gives a shiny appearance to the praeputium'.
The manner of fastening
This translation accords well with the way in which the shell and sheath
are attached to the penis. Doctor Wollaston (1912:113-114) cited by
Kooijman (1984:113) describes the manner in which the shell is fastened:
Another equally common fashion of covering is the shell, sometimes
as much as six inches in diameter. It is worn on a string which passes
through two holes bored in it and is tied tightly round the loins. The
convex surface of the shell faces forward and the praeputium is pulled
upwards and clipped under the lower margin of the shell.
321
Other investigators, for example Le Roux (1948:141-142), Koch and
Rouffaer (also cited by Kooijman) are less clear on this point. Nonetheless
they appear to be indicating that the wearing of the penis shell or cover was
intended to keep the praeputium bared.
My Atuka informants told me that the bamboo penis cover was preferably
made from the éeke, but without stating why they chose this variety of
bamboo. A penis cover was made from one segment of bamboo, which was
cut off several centimetres above a joint on one side. The uppermost part
of the cylinder, roughly one-third of the whole, was left intact, but one wall
of the remainder was removed, and the other was cut into the form of two
small human legs (Kooijman 1984:142-143) Unfortunately I can provide no
further data on the figures carved into the rind or skin of the entire surface
of the cylinder.
In the middle of the joint/partition a round opening was made: its
diameter was carefully measured to match the size of the praeputium of the
young man who was to wear the cover. When the cover was fitted, only the
praeputium was pulled through the opening, while the foreskin (the
kamare-pu-ru) was pushed to the outside above the joint opening. The
cover, which was not very heavy, was thus well anchored; it was not very
difficult to tie it in a vertical position to the lower abdomen. I have never
been able to check this information; according to Kooijman, no photographs
remain of any Mimika Papuans wearing the penis cover. Nonetheless, I see
no good reason for doubting the accuracy of the description.
The possible function of the penis cover and penis shell
The explanation for the name of the penis sheath or shell, and the
probable manner of attaching it, means that we have to allow for the
possibility that these pieces of equipment were intended to keep the
praeputium (of both young men and adults) exposed. We may be dealing
here with a parallel of the circumcision practiced by other peoples, past and
present. For the moment we are concerned with a reasonably plausible
hypothesis concerning only the Mimika region. Thus there is a need for
further research.
In such future research attention has to be devoted also to examining the
correctness of the explanation for circumcision as given, for example, in the
E.N.S.I.E. encyclopaedia (Pos et al. 1949, Volume 6:283, 581): i.e., that 'the
result of the continual exposure of the praeputium is that a thin layer of
epidermis on the praeputium becomes even thicker and harder, thus
rendering the part tougher and less sensitive. This toughening and the
reduced degree of sensitivity ensure that copulation lasts longer and sexual
pleasure is increased'. Where the Mimika people are concerned, an
examination is necessary of whether the gleaming of the praeputium also
influences their view that an exposed and tougher praeputium affords
greater efficiency in copulation.
As in the case of the nose-pané, the kamare-po-ko also fulfills the
function of a power socket in the Mimika-Papuan mode of thought. Through
the continual physical contact between the penis shell or cover, and the
322
penis/praeputium, the property of the object's shine (kö) is transferred to
the person. Consequently a 'souls (ipü) relationship' is created; this renders
the penis/praeputium more perfect, and better able to perform its function.
Kooijman (1984:142) draws attention to the similarity between the penis
cover and a mask, which suggests the presence of an ancestor, or ancestors.
Given the view presented above, that the dead and living together constitute
a village community, it is my opinion that the Mimika Papuans assume that,
at this important point in a young man's life, the ancestors (or a particular
ancestor) were/was present. The last preparation for marriage took place
under the eyes of the ancestors, and with their assistance. It is a pity that we
do not know whether or not the penis covers were named after particular
dead personages.
References cited
Bartels, H.
1956
Waarnemingen bij een broedhol van de Jaarvogel op Sumatra. Limosa 29,
Hr 1-3:1-18.
Boelaars, [m.s.c], J.
1953
Nieuw-Guinea, uw mensen zijn wonderbaar, h et leven der Papua's in zuid
Nieuw-Guinea. Bussum: Paul Brand.
Coenen, o.f.m., J.
c. 1960 Enkele facetten van de geestelijke cultuur van de Mimika. (manuscript)
Drabbe, m.s.c, P.
1937
Grammatica en woordenlijst van de Mimikataal. (manuscript)
Konrad, Gunter, Ursula Konrad und / and Tobias Schneebaum
1981
Asmat, lebenmitdenAhnen,
steinzeitlicheHolzschnitzeruserZeit/Asmat,
life with the ancestors, Stone Age woodcarvers in our time. Glashütten,
Taunus: Brückner.
Kooijman, Simon
1984
Art, art objects, and ritual in the Mimika culture. Mededelingen van het
Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde 24. Leiden: E. J. Brill.
Le Roux see: Roux, C. C. F. M. Le
Pos, H. J. et al. (eds.)
1946-1960 Eerste Nederlandse systematisch ingerichte encyclopaedie 12 Volumes.
Amsterdam: E.N.S.I.E./Wetenschappelijke Uitgeverij.
Pouwer, Jan
1955
Enkele aspecten van de Mimika-cultuur (Nederlands zuidwest NieuwGuinea). Ph.D. thesis, Leiden. 's-Gravenhage: Staatsdrukkerij- en Uitgeverijbedrijf.
Roux, C. C. F. M. Le
1948-1950 De Bergpapoea's van Nieuw-Guinea en hun woongebied. 3 Volumes.
Leiden: E. J. Brill.
323
Schoot, H. A. van der
1969
Het Mimika- en Asmatgebied (West Man) voor en na de openlegging,
beleidsaspecten van een overgangssituatie / The Mimika and Asmat Area
(West Irian) in retrospect and prospect, policy aspects of transition. Ph.D.
thesis, Tilburg. Tilburg: H. Gianotten.
Van der Schoot see: Schoot, H. A. van der
Wollaston, A. F. R.
1912
PygmiesandPapuans,
Smith, Elder & Co.
thestoneage to-day inDutchNewGuinea.
London:
324
SHORT BIOGRAPHY
OF
DR. SIMON KOOIJMAN
18 February 1915 Born in Amersfoort, the Netherlands.
1933-1938
_,.
Studied geography, history and ethnology (cultural
anthropology) at the University of Utrecht.
1938
Doctorandus (M.A.) degree in social geography.
1938-1940
Conscripted in the army as candidate reserve officer in
the infantry.
Teacher of geography and history at the Haags gymnasium (a major grammar school in The Hague) and the
Christelijk lyceum (Christian lyceum) in Zeist.
1940-1942
1942
Doctoral degree from the University of Utrecht.
Promotor: Professor H. Th. Fischer.
Title of Ph.D. thesis: Sahala, londi. De begrippen 'mana'
en 'hau' bij enkele Sumatraanse volken.
1943
Appointment as research assistant at the Rijksmuseum
voor Volkenkunde, Leiden; responsible for the 'South
Seas and Australia' Department.
1946
Appointment as Curator.
1947-1950
Reserve officer with the Netherlands Forces Intelligence
Service in the former Netherlands Indies.
1950
Return to the museum (13 June 1950). Resumption of the
curatorship of the 'South Seas and Australia' Department.
1952-1954
Study leave to conduct a population study among the
Marind-anim (South New Guinea) under the auspices of
the South Pacific Commission.
1954
'Kooijman shipment Merauke', collection of more than
500 artefacts assemblee! by Kooijman (to a large extent
acquired from missionaries, government officers,
dealers, businessmen and anthroplogists), mainly from
the Asmat, Mimika and Marind-anim. Registered in the
museum collections under number RMV 3070.
Marind-anim photographic collection of circa 1000
black-white photographs.
325
1962-1972
Secretary of the Vereniging van Vrienden van het Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden (Society of Friends
of the National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden).
1966
Appointment as Deputy Director.
1968
Officer in the Order of Orange-Nassau on the occasion
of the 25th anniversary of his museum service.
1971
Three months field research in West Polynesia (Samoa,
Tonga and Fiji), trial investigation into Polynesian barkcloth, and selection of suitable location for prolonged
research.
Collection of circa 80 artefeacts, registered under
number RMV 4518.
Photographic collection of circa 750 colour slides and
circa 700 black-white photographs.
1973
Eight months field research in Fiji (Moce Island, Lau
Group) into the process of manufacture, ornamentation
and social significance of barkcloth.
Collection of more than 200 artefacts, registered under
number RMV 4706.
Photographic collection of circa 2250 colour slides and
circa 800 black-white photographs).
Film: Tapa. Life and work on a South-Sea island (Moce).
1980
Retirement (1 March 1980).
Temporary activities in the Oceania Department until
appointment of successor (1 March to 1 September
1980).
1980-1989
Secretary of the Werkgemeenschap Oceanië (Dutch
Society for Oceanic Studies).
326
THE
AUTHORS
G. D. van Wengen
Ger van Wengen was until his retirement in 1991 Head of the Presentation Department in the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden. He graduated in Ethnology and took his Ph.D. degree at Leiden University in 1957
with the thesis Social aspects of the co-operative movement in Ceylon and
Southern India (1957). In the course of his career he developed a strong
interest injavanese culture. Apart from his geograhical fields of interest, he
specialised in ethnomusicology and museology, particularly with regard to
museum education. At the museum he was instrumental in developing its
Education Department during pioneering years in the 1950s and 1960s,
when education became an essential part of the museum's service to the
public. In his work at the museum he tied together his varied interests in a
practical way, for example by instructing classes in playing the Javanese
gamelan. From 1977 to 1983 Dr. Van Wengen served as Chairman of the
Committee for Education and Cultural Action (CECA) of the International
Council of Museums (ICOM). On the invitation of the Indonesian Government he made several trips to Indonesia to advise on the establishment and
development of local museums and to give museology courses. Since his
retirement he has been writing a book on the Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde, its history, functions and future perspective. His publications
include The cultural inheritance of the Javanese in Surinam (1975), and
Educatief werk in musea (1975)-
2
A. A. Trouwborst
Emeritus Professor of Social Anthropology at the Catholic University of
Nijmegen, the Netherlands. He studied Indology (Indonesian studies) at
Leiden University where he also obtained his Ph.D. degree in 1956 with a
dissertation on Vee als voorwerp van rijkdom in Oost Afrika. He carried out
anthropological fieldwork in Burundi (East Africa) several times since 1958
and among the Matawai in Surinam in 1963- He was Curator of the African
department of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde from 1952-1960. He
went to Canada in 1960 as an assistant professor at the Department of
Anthropology at the Université de Montréal. In 1964 he was appointed as a
senior lecturer and later as a professor at the Catholic University of
Nijmegen. He has published mainly in the fields of political anthropology
and the history of ethnography. Regionally, he is interested in Africa and
Indonesia. His publications include: LeBurundi (1962) and De Atjehers van
Snouck Hurgronje (1993).
THE AUTHORS
327
3
Dirk A. M. Smidt
Dirk Smidt is Curator of the Department of Oceania at the Rijksmuseum
voor Volkenkunde in Leiden. He graduated from the University of Leiden
where he studied anthropology, specializing in the art of New Guinea. From
1970 to 1980 he held several positions at the National Museum and Art
Gallery in Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea. He has undertaken fieldwork
in various areas of New Guinea, especially among the Kominimung and
neighbouring peoples in the Middle Ramu River region, the Abelam (Papua
New Guinea), and among the Asmat (Irian Jaya). His recent publications
include the Oceania part of Sculptuur uit Afrika en Oceanië/Sculpture from
Africa and Oceania (1990), and articles in the symposium volumes of the
Pacific Arts Association: 'Kominimung one-legged figures, creative process
and function' (1990) and, with Noel Mc Guigan, 'An emic and etic role for
Abelam art (Papua New Guinea), the context of a collecting trip on behalf
of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden' (1993). He edited Asmat art,
woodcarvings of Southwest New Guinea (1993) and, with Pieter ter Keurs,
The language of things, studies in ethnocommunication (1990).
-
4
Wim Rosema
Wim Rosema studied Cultural Anthropology at the University of Leiden
and graduated in 1989. He made a film about the Saami of Norway, and
carried out research on Saint Nicholas rituals on Ameland, one of the
northern islands in the Netherlands. Since 1974 he worked in the educational department of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden. After graduation he became keeper of the collection of photographs, films and sound
recordings in the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde. At present he is working
on an inventory of the photographic collection.
5
Adrienne L. Kaeppler is Curator of Oceanic Ethnology at the National
Museum of Natural History/National Museum of Man, at the Smithsonian
Institution, Washington D.C. She attended the University of WisconsinMilwaukee and received her B.A., M.A., and Ph.D. degrees from the
University of Hawai'i. From 1967-1980 she was an anthropologist on the staff
of the Bishop Museum in Honolulu, Hawai'i. She has taught anthropology,
ethnomusicology, anthropology of dance, and art history at the University
of Hawai'i, the University of Maryland, College Park, The Queen's University
in Belfast (Northern Ireland), Johns Hopkins University, and the University
of California, Los Angeles. She has carried out field research in Tonga,
Hawai'i, Tahiti, Easter Island, the Cook Islands, the Solomon Islands, New
Guinea, and Japan. Her research focusses on the interrelationships between
328
social structure and the arts, especially dance, music, and the visual arts. She
has published widely on these subjects; her recent books include Poetry in
motion, studies in Tongan dance and Hula Pahu, Hawaiian drum dances,
and she is co-author of L'Art Océanien (all published in 1993). She is
currently working on books on the social history of early English museums,
Tongan material culture, and Hawaiian art.
6
Jehanne Teilhet-Fisk
Jehanne Teilhet-Fisk, Emeritus Professor of Art History, University of
California at San Diego, is a Professor of Art History at Florida State
University. Her Ph.D. is from the University of California at Los Angeles. Her
initial interest in Polynesian art was generated by her study of Paul
Gauguin's Polynesian works, Paradise reviewed, an interpretation of Gauguin's Polynesian symbolism. She first visited the Kingdom of Tonga in 1972
to make a l6mm film Tapaproduction in Tonga and has been returning ever
since. Her publications on Polynesia include: 'The equivocal nature of a
masking tradition in Polynesia' (1979), 'The role of women artists in
Polynesia and Melanesia' (1983), 'Tongan grave art' (1990), and Dimensions
of Polynesia (1973). She is currently writing an article on the Miss Heilala
Beauty Pagent.
7
Steven Hooper
Steven Hooper is Director of the Sainsbury Research Unit for the Arts of
Africa, Oceania and the Americas at the University of East Anglia, Norwich,
England. He completed his doctorate at the Department of Social Anthropology, University of Cambridge in 1982, having conducted fieldwork in Lau,
Fiji, in 1977-1979 and 1980. He is a specialist in the arts, ritual and exchange
of the Pacific region anti North America. For ten years he has been engaged
as editor, co-author and production manager of the three-volume Catalogue
of the Robert and Lisa Sainsbury collection (owned by the University of East
Anglia), to be published in 1996. Other publications include Art and
artefacts of the Pacific, Africa and the Americas, the James Hooper collection
(1976) and The Fiji journals of Baron Anatole von Hügel 1875-1877 (coeditor, 1990). He is currently beginning work on a series of studies of Lauan
and Fijian art, ritual and culture.
8
Jac. Hoogerbrugge
Jac. Hoogerbrugge, born in Rotterdam in 1923, spent his working life in
Indonesia, in the shipping business. As a practising watercolour artist he
soon became a keen student, and collector, of Indonesian ethnic arts and
THE AUTHORS
329
crafts, particularly those of Irian Jaya where he lived from 1956 till 1963.
After a twenty years' stay he left Indonesia in 1966. At the request of UNDP
(United Nations Development Project), New York, he returned to Indonesia
to set up the Asmat Art Project in 1969. Guidance received from J. van Baal,
K. W. Galis, A. A. Gerbrands, F. C. Kamma and S. Kooijman added substance
to the experiences he had gained in the field, and led to the publication of
a number of booklets and articles on the arts and crafts of the Lake Sentani
and Asmat areas. At present he is collecting, from the archives in the
Netherlands, data and photographs documenting the pre-war culture of
specific areas of the north coast of Irian Jaya, and ensuring that copies of
this documentation is returned directly to the villages concerned.
9
Pieter ter Keurs
Pieter ter Keurs studied cultural anthropology at Leiden University,
where he graduated in 1985- He did fieldwork on the Siassi Islands of Papua
New Guinea, and he has published several articles on the material culture
of this area. In 1989 Ter Keurs was appointed Curator for Insular SoutheastAsia at the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde in Leiden. Since then, he has
created several exhibitions on Indonesian subjects. Together with Dirk
Smidt, he edited The language of things, studies in ethnocommunication
(1990). In 1994 Ter Keurs began a research project on changes in material
culture on Enggano Island (Indonesia).
10
Paul van der Grijp
Paul van der Grijp, a senior research fellow at Utrecht University, is
currently working on the project 'The Comparative Study of Cultural
Change, Production and Power'. He studied philosophy and anthropology
in Nijmegen, and anthropology at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes et Sciences
Sociales in Paris. In 1987 he obtained his Ph.D. from the University of
Nijmegen. Between 1988 and 1993, he was a Researcher of the Royal
Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences (KNAW). At present, he is the
European representative of the Tongan History Association and he is a
Board Member of the Centre for Pacific Studies (Nijmegen) and co-founder
and Board Member of the European Society for Oceanists. He conducted
fieldwork in Tonga (five lengthy periods between 1982 and 1994), Wallis
and Futuna (1988-89), Rotuma (1991, 1993), and Western Samoa (1991,
1994). His recent publications include Vertekende vergezichten, perspectieven op de kenbaarheid van andere culturen en samenlevingen (1992), and
Islanders of the South, production, kinship and ideology in the Polynesian
Kingdom of Tonga (1993)•
330
11
Douglas Newton
Douglas Newton was Curator and Director of the Museum of Primitive Art
in New York City from 1957 to 1975. He was Evelyn AJ. Hall and John A.
Friede Chairman of the Department of Pimitive Art at the Metropolitan
Museum in New York City from 1975 until his retirement in 1990. He was
educated in London. He is an expert in the art of Oceania, in particular that
of New Guinea. He did extensive fieldwork in the Upper Sepik area (Papua
New Guinea). Among his several publications on the art styles of New
Guinea, Crocodile and cassowary (1971) deals specifically with Upper Sepik
art styles and their ritual associations. His other publications include Art
styles of'the Papuan Gulf(l96ï), 'Prehistorie and recent art styles in Papua
New Guinea' (1979) and the 'Introduction' to L'Art Océanien (1993). He is
co-author of The art ofthe Pacific lslands (1979) and co-editor of Islands and
ancestors (1988).
12
Barry Craig
Barry Graig is Research Co-ordinator of the Aboriginal Family History
Project at the South Australian Museum. He began researching art and
material culture among the Mountain-Ok of Central New Guinea in 1964,
extended the area of research to the Upper Sepik region in 1968 and 1969
by conducting two museum collecting expeditions on behalf of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden, the Museum für Völkerkunde, Berlin, the
Australian Museum, Sydney, and the Papua New Guinea Public Museum and
Art Gallery, Port Moresby. In 1969 he obtained an M.A. in anthropology from
the University of Sydney, with a thesis on the houseboards and warshields
of Central New Guinea. In 1972-1973 he continued his research in the Idam
valley of the West Sepik Province of Papua New Guinea, assembling
collections on behalf of the Commonwealth Art Advisory Board, Canberra,
and the Papua New Guinea Public Museum and Art Gallery, Port Moresby.
In 1980-1983 he was Curator of Anthropology at the Papua New Guinea
National Museum and did fieldwork in Central New Guinea, the Middle and
Lower Sepik and the Bismarck Archipelago. In 1992 he arranged for the
performance and explication of masks by people from Tabar Islands (New
Ireland) and from Wide Bay (New Britain) during the 5th Pacific Arts
Symposium in Adelaide, South Australia. His publications include 'Is the
Mountain-Ok culture a Sepik culture?' (1987), 'Relic and trophy arrays as art
among the Mountain-Ok, Central New Guinea' (1990), and Art and decoration of Central New Guinea (1988). He is co-editor of Children of Afek,
tradition and change among the Mountain-Ok of Central New Guinea
(1990). He is currently completing a Ph.D. thesis on the collection,
documentation and preservation of the material cultural heritage of Papua
New Guinea.
THE AUTHORS
331
13
Ad Boeren
Ad Boeren studied anthropology at Leiden University, The Netherlands.
He worked for FAO in East Africa for five years (1978-1983), developing
audiovisual materials for extension services and training extension officers
in development support communication. He was lecturer in visual communication at Leiden University, Department of Anthropology, for a period of
two years (1983-85). In 1986 he joined the Centre for the Study of Education
in Developing Countries (CESO) in The Hague, where he still works as
education specialist. He has produced video documentaries for FAO and
CESO, and written and edited articles and books on visual communication,
media and adult education. His anthropological interests focus on the
cultural dimensions of communication and systems of visual communication. Boeren's most recent publication is In other words, the cultural
dimension ofcommunication for development (1994).
14
H. J. M. Claessen
H. J. M. Claessen is Emeritus Professor of Anthropology at the University
of Leiden. Between 1956 and 1970 he was a teacher of geography and history
at St. Adelbert College (Wassenaar). After obtaining his Ph.D. at the
University of Amsterdam in 1970 he was appointed Associate Professor of
Anthropology at Leiden University, and in 1984 Professor there. He specialised in political anthropology and published widely on the origins and
development of the (early) state. He retired from Leiden University in 1994.
His publications include Over de politiek denkende en handelende mens
(1988), Verdwenen koninkrijken en verloren beschavingen (1991). With
Peter Skalnik he edited The early state (1978), and with Pieter van de Velde
Early state dynamics (1987). With Simon Kooijman and others he wrote
Inleiding in de culturele antropologie (1969), which was reprinted many
times.
15
A. C. van der Leeden
Lex van der Leeden, former Curator of the Indonesian collections at the
Municipal Museum of Ethnology in Rotterdam (1956-1960), the National
Museum of Ethnology in Leiden (1960-1969), and afterwards Senior Lecturer
in Cultural Anthropology at the Catholic University Nijmegen (1969-1978),
has since 1979 lectured in Indonesia at the Universitas Cenderawasih in
Jayapura (1979-1985) and at the Universitas Indonesia in Jakarta (postdoctoral studies; from 1985 onward). He has carried out field research in
Sarmi, northern Irian Jaya (1952-1955), amongst the Nunggubuyu Aborigines in southeastern Arnhem Land, Northern Territory, Australia (1964-1965),
and on the Raja Ampat Islands, Sorong, western Irian Jaya (1979-1985). His
332
most important publications are: Hoofdtrekken der sociale struktuur in het
westelijk binnenland van Sarmi (doctoral thesis. Leiden, 1956). 'Social
structure in New Guinea' {Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land-, en Volkenkunde,
1960), 'Thundering Gecko and Emu, mythological structuring of Nunggubuyu patrimoieties' (1975), and Ma'ya, a language study, a phonology
(1993).
16
G. A. Zegwaard, m.s.c.
In 1946, after completing his seminary training, Father Zegwaard sailed
as a missionary for Netherlands New Guinea (m.s.c. is the abbreviation of
Missionarius Sacratissimi Cordis). Between 1947 and 1953 he devoted a
good deal of attention to the culture of the Mimika people. Aided by his
knowledge of the local languages, he produced an extensive collection of
folk tales. In the Mimika region he made contact with the Asmat people, and
finally settled in Agats in early 1953- There, also, he studied the indigenous
culture, its myths, social structure and rituals. In this period he wrote a
number of articles in Dutch journals, and a survey of 'Headhunting practices'
{American anthropologist, 1959). From 1956 on he fulfilled a number of
Church functions at the regional and national level in Merauke, Hollandia
(Jayapura) and Jakarta. He returned permanently to the Netherlands in 1982,
and for several years acted as regional representative of Memisa (abbreviation of Medische Missie Actie) for Asia. After retirement in 1987 he resumed
his old interest in Mimika and Asmat culture.
EDITORS' ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Dr. David Stuart-Fox gave valuable editorial advise. We would like to
thank Dr. G.D. van Wengen for editorial assistance at the beginning of this
project. Christina Vogel, Annette van Dijk and Nel van Hove rendered
indispensable secretarial assistance. Enid Perlin translated the articles that
were originally in Dutch and she corrected the contributions of Dutch
authors who wrote in English. Frans Stelling made the Enggano and Asmat
maps. Ben Grishaaver (Audiovisual Centre, University of Leiden) made the
studio photographs of the objects in the collection of the Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde and Cees van der Wilk organised the photographic work.
Finally, we would like to thank P.E. Bijvoet for preparing the manuscript for
the printer.
LISTOFMAPS
333
LIST OF MAPS
Figure 6a.
Map of Oceania showing locations of relevance to Simon
Kooijman's work.
Figure 32.
Map of the Fiji Islands.
Figure 48. Map of Enggano Island.
Figure 53- Map of the Kingdom of Tonga.
Figure 57. Map of the upper Sepik River, Papua New Guinea.
Figure 61. Map of New Guinea and the Bismarck Archipelago.
Figure 68. Map of South Irian Jaya. The four 'core-style regions'.
Figure 91A. Sketch map A. Nunggubuyu territories.
Figure 91B. Sketch map B. The plain of Mabanadjaruid.
334
MEDEDELINGEN VAN HET RIJKSMUSEUM VOOR VOLKENKUNDE, LEIDEN
No. 1. J.P.B, de Josselin de Jong, Archeological Material from Saba and
St. Eustatius, Lesser Antilles, 1947. (Out of print)
No. 2. J.L. Swellengrebel, Een vorstenwijding op Bali, 1947. (Out of print)
No. 3. a) C. Nooteboom, Quelques techniques de tissage des Petites Hes de
la Sonde, b) Pierre Paris, Discussion et données complémentaires a
propos de 1'ouvrage de M. James Hornell, Watertransport, Origin and
Early Evolution. 1948. 46 pp.
No. 4. P.J.L. Vandenhoute, Classification stylistique du masque Dan et
Guéré de la Cöte d'Ivoire occidentale (A.O.F.), 1948. (Out of print)
No. 5. T. Volker, Ukiyoe Quartet, Publisher, Designer, Engraver, and Printer, 1949. (Out of print)
No. 6 and 7. T. Volker, The Animal in Far Eastern Art, and especially in the
Art of the Japanese Netsuke, with References to Chinese Origins,
Traditions, Legends, and Art, 1950 (Out of print)
No. 8 and 9. P.H. Pott, Introduction to the Tibetan Collection of the
National Museum of Ethnology, Leiden, 1951. (Out of print)
No.10 J.P.B, de Josselin de Jong, Lévi-Strauss's Theory on Kinship and
Marriage, 1952. (Out of print)
No.ll.T. Volker, Porcelain and the Dutch East India Company, as recorded
in the Dagh-registers oi Batavia Castle, those of Hirado and Deshima
and other contemporary papers, 1602-1682, 1954. (Out of print)
No.l2.A.A. Gerbrands, Art as an Element of Culture, especially in
Negro-Africa, 1957. (Out of print)
N0.I3.T. Volker, The Japanese Porcelain Trade of the Dutch East India
Company after 1683, 1959. (Out of print)
No.14. H.H. Frese, Anthropology and the Public, the Role of Museums, 1960.
(Out of print)
No.15.The Wonder of Man's Ingenuity, being a Series of Studies in
Archaeology, Material Culture, and Social Anthropology by Members
of the Academie Staff of the National Museum of Ethnology,
published on the Occasion of the Museum's 125th Anniversary, 1962.
165 pp. (Out of print)
N0.I6.S. Kooijman, Ornamented Bark-Cloth in Indonesia, 1963- VIII,
145 pp. (Out of print)
No.17. Gert Nooter. Old Kayaks in the Netherlands, 1971. 76 pp.
No.lS.Freerk C. Kamma and Simon Kooijman, Romawa Forja, Child of the
Fire, Iron Working and the Role of Iron in West New Guinea (West
Irian), 1973. X, 45 pp.
No.19.CD. van Wengen, The Cultural Inheritance of the Javanese in
Surinam, 1975. 55 pp.
No.20. Gert Nooter, Leadership and Headship, Changing Authority Patterns
in an East Greenland Hunting Community, 1976. VI, 117 pp.
No.21. Simon Kooijman, Tapa on Moce Island, Fiji, a Traditional Handicraft
in a Changing Society, 1977. X, 176 pp.
No.22.W.R. van Gulik, Irezumi, The pattern of Dermatography in Japan,
1982. XVIII, 308 pp.
MEDEDELINGEN VAN HET RIJKSMUSEUM VOOR VOLKENKUNDE
335
No.23.Ted J.J. Leyenaar, Ulama, the Perpetuation in Mexico of the
pre-Spanish ball game ullamalitzli, 1978. VIII, 120 pp.
No.24. Simon Kooijman, Art, Art Objects, and Ritual in the Mimika Culture,
1984. XIX, 173 pp.
No.25.Pieter ter Keurs and Dirk Smidt (eds.), The Language of Things,
Studies in Ethnocommunication, 1990.
No.26. Gerard W. van Bussel, Paul L. F. van Dongen and Ted J. J. Leyenaar
(eds.), The Mesoamerican Ballgame, Papers presented at the International Colloquium 'The Mesoamerican Ballgame 2000 BC - AD 2000',
Leiden, June 30th - July 3rd, 1988. 1991. 300 pp.
No.27. Rita Bolland, Tellem Textiles, Archaeological finds from burial caves
in Mali's Bandiagara Cliff. Published in cooperation with the Royal
Tropical Institute, Amsterdam. 1991- 321 pp.
No.28. Dirk A. M. Smidt, Pieter ter Keurs and Albert Trouwborst (eds.),
Pacific Material Culture, Essays in honour of Dr. Simon Kooijman, on
the occasion of his 80th birthday. 1995. (this volume)
336
COLOPHON
The first copy of Pacific Material Culture is presented to Dr. Simon
Kooijman, accompanied by'Mrs. To Kooijman-van der Craats, by Dr. S.B.
Engelsman, Director of the Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde, Leiden, on
Friday 17 February 1995, the day before Dr. Kooijman's 80th birthday.
The publication of this volume was made posible through an additional
grant from the Vereniging van Vrienden van het Rijksmuseum voor
Volkenkunde (Association of Friends of the National Museum of Ethnology).
Published by Stichting Rijksmuseum voor Volkenkunde. (In the cadre of
privatisation of Government institutions the museum became a foundation
on 1 January 1995).
Edition of 500 copies.
Printed by Drukkerij Groen bv, Leiden, on the presses Mitsubishi 3F and
Roland Record.
Basic design by Leo Helms, Leiden.
DTP in Garamond on a Power Macintosh by Peter van der Voort.
Binding by Jansenbinders bv, Leiden.
The paper of the interior is 115 g/m2 woodfree halfmat me, the paper of the
laminated cover is 250 g/m2 of the same quality.
ISBN 90-71310-59-0

Untitled - Stichting Papua Erfgoed

Transcription

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